


History's Like Gravity

by NyxEtoile, OlivesAwl



Series: Tales From the Tower [8]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Domestic Avengers, Established Relationship, F/M, Flashbacks, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-03-29 02:34:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 32,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3878896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxEtoile/pseuds/NyxEtoile, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlivesAwl/pseuds/OlivesAwl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <img/>
</p><p>Sequel to <i>Best Mistake I Never Made</i>. Might want to read/brush up on it before checking this out.</p><hr/><p>
  <i>"Hey, Clint?"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Mmm?" he asked.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"You can ask me things even if you can't read my mind. You can ask just because you want to."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>He looked up at her. "Well. You know me. I don't like walking into things without proper intel."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>That made her smile. "That's a good point. But I just. . . we're a team."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"I know." He slid an arm around her. "I enjoy keeping it that way."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Her head tilted and she studied him, mouth turning down at little. "I'm in this for the long haul, Clint."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Now they were wandering onto topics they never talked about. The future. Permanence. Long hauls. They seemed like impossible ideas for two people who both long expected to die with their boots on. "So am I," he replied.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>She nodded and her mouth curved up into a smile. "Good." </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Most of this story overlaps with events in my Bucky/OFC fic _Welcome to the New Age_. We have tried to include enough detail for the reader to follow this without reading the other, but if you are so inclined or find yourself confused, it might be worth checking out the other story. I will attempt to call out in chapter notes which _Welcome_ chapter is relevant.
> 
> This story (especially the flashbacks) starts right after _Best Mistake I Never Made_ so go check it out if you're lost. We wrote them back-to-back and it shows.
> 
> This fic was written in its entirety before Age of Ultron is released and is not compliant with or influenced by it.
> 
> Title is from Come to Me by the Goo Goo dolls.

_New York, 2016_

There had been a connecting door between Nat and Clint's apartments. Stark had had it installed when they moved in, because he didn't know what their "deal" was. Now that Barnes and Amanda were moving into it, the door needed to go. Stark said he'd send something up, but apparently Barnes really wanted to do some sort of construction on his new place. And the bathroom had proved the guy to be good with drywall.

So one Saturday afternoon, he and Clint had themselves a dust and hammer filled afternoon removing the door.

"I appreciate the help," Barnes said as they were taking a break between demolition and rebuilding. "I like the idea of doing something with my own hands."

"Getting your own sweat and blood right in the walls of your home?"

"I'm hoping blood isn't involved, but you've got the basic idea."

"I can see the appeal of that. I didn't expect to think of this place as home, but. . ." he shrugged. "Here we are."

"I guess you haven't had much by way of home, huh?"

"Nooo. Even the one I had when I was kid wasn't all that welcoming."

Barnes nodded. "I remember the apartment I grew up in. I guess it was pretty run down by today's standards but it was happy enough. The years since haven't been pretty, of course, but. . ." He shrugged. "I'm looking forward to having a life."

London wandered over to investigate, and Clint rubbed the top of her head. "Next thing you know, you'll have a cat."

"I prefer dogs." But he held his fingers out for London to sniff.

"Me too, actually. Nat wanted a cat."

Barnes looked over at him and smirked, but didn't say anything. "How is official cohabitation working?"

"Nothing has changed. I don't know that I expected it to, but it's nice to have that confirmed."

"Natasha seems okay?"

"So far. She was. . . surprisingly mellow about the whole thing." That had surprised him a great deal. She seemed to have expected he'd ask her.

"Not to make assumptions but she doesn't seem the type for histrionics."

"No, not at all. She just bottles it up inside. Push her too far or too hard and she'll shut down. Retreat behind her walls. She fights cold." None of their arguments had ever involved yelling. But the few really bad ones had made him wonder if she could just walk away.

"I remember feeling like that. When I first got here. Everything felt raw. Magnified." He gave a soft smile. "I suppose that's why I started liking Amanda. She gave me space. Seemed to know exactly how far to push without making it overwhelming."

"I got pretty good at knowing where her boundaries are. She's been surprising me more lately."

"Maybe it's that feeling of home." Barnes reached out and scratched London's head. "It has a way of settling old demons. Make you feel safe."

"Do you feel safe here?"

He tilted his head as if surprised at the question. "Yes. I do."

"I hope she does, too. I think she does."

Barnes grinned. "Closing up the giant hole in the wall will probably help."

Clint smiled back. "Suppose we should get to it, then, shouldn't we?"

It took the better part of the afternoon, but by the time Nat and Amanda got back from furniture shopping they had the drywall up and most of the dust cleaned up. The women stood in front of the patch and studied it critically. "Looks like a wall," Amanda finally said.

Barnes wrapped his arm around her waist. "Please, darlin', your enthusiasm will make me blush."

"It's a nice wall," Nat tried.

"Did you guys get furniture?" Clint asked.

"We did," Nat told him. "I got a new nightstand and Amanda found a desk and some odds and ends."

"What is the desk made of?" Barnes asked Amanda suspiciously.

"Walnut, you utter snob." She kissed him. "Come on. Let's not wear out our welcome with our new neighbors."

Manners probably indicated he should invite them to stay for dinner. But Clint had had his fill of social interaction for the day, and he'd bet the rest of them felt the same. None of them were exactly extroverts. "We'll see you guys later."

"Have a good night." Barnes kept his arm around Doc's waist as they headed out. The dry wall would be ready to paint in a day or two, and then they'd be moving in.

Nat kissed hid cheek. "Dinner?"

"Are you cooking?"

She tipped her head back and seemed to think a moment. "I could. Or we can order in."

"I like your food." Most of the time. Nat was expanding her cooking skills and getting creative. Usually it was pretty good. Sometimes it was a miss.

She beamed. Compliments to her cooking always delighted her. "I'll see what I have." She paused to press against him another moment, then sauntered towards the kitchen.

He watched her for a moment, then headed towards his chair. London camped out in front of where the door had been an meowed at it. "Sorry, honey," Clint told her.

The cat paced in front of it, meowing her disapproval at having her territory effectively halved. Finally, she gave up and came over to leap into his lap, rumbling a purr. He pet her gently as the smell of rosemary filled the apartment. "We'll get you another cat tree. Maybe one with a swing."

The cat kneaded his leg, needle sharp claws digging through the denim of his jeans. He wasn't sure if that was approval or more punishment about closing off the other apartment. He let her, even though it hurt. His fondness for this cat had surprised him. He'd agreed pretty much entirely because Nat wanted it, and he liked making her happy. But he found London soothing. She made him feel strangely normal.

Nat came out a bit later, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. "Dinner in about ten minutes." She reached down to rub the top of London's head with a finger. "Is she mad at you?"

"She misses the door," he replied. He glanced at the wall, then back up at Nat. "Now it's really permanent."

"Yes, it is." She crossed her arms on the arm of his chair and crouched next to him so he wouldn't have to crane his neck. "I like it."

His eyes searched her face. "Still okay with this?"

Her gaze scanned the room a moment before returning to his. "I am. I was okay with it a long time ago, I think. Just didn't know how to bring it up."

"Guess I'm not as good at reading you as I used to be."

She looked at him sharply, as if trying to determine if there was a second meaning. Then she leaned up to kiss him. "I don't know what I want half the time. Can't expect you to know it."

"I know. But I know it can be hard to ask, so I try. Though I think I was better at it before Loki stirred my brain around."

"You were." She shrugged a little at the look he gave her. "As reasons for second guessing yourself go, it's a good one. I think without him and your. . . recovery from that we'd be in a very different place right now."

He thought about that sometimes. Before he'd gone to New Mexico. That night in the hotel when she told him about stealing his t-shirts. He'd wanted to tell her he loved her that night. He wished he had. "Some days I think I have all the damage he did cataloged. And then I don't."

Lifting a hand, she sifted her fingers into his hair. "We made it through, though. Like we always do."

"Yeah." He shook his head. "Sorry, I don't know why I keep bringing this up." She was never particularly keen on talking about that time. Not that he was either.

"It's all right. It happened, it's going to come up." Something beeped in the kitchen and she straightened, stopping to kiss his cheek on the way up. "Come for dinner." She stepped away from the chair, but stopped halfway to the kitchen, while he was still trying to disengage London. "Hey, Clint?"

"Mmm?" he asked, prying her little needle-claws out the fabric of his jeans.

"You can ask me things even if you can't read my mind. You can ask just because you want to."

He looked up at her. "Well. You know me. I don't like walking into things without proper intel."

That made her smile. "That's a good point. But I just. . . we're a team."

"I know." He finally got London out of his lap, and stood, coming towards her. He slid an arm around her. "I enjoy keeping it that way."

Her head tilted and she studied him, mouth turning down at little. "I'm in this for the long haul, Clint."

Now they were wandering onto topics they never talked about. The future. Permanence. Long hauls. They seemed like impossible ideas for two people who both long expected to die with their boots on. "So am I," he replied.

She nodded and her mouth curved up into a smile. "Good." Popping up onto her toes she kissed him, lips soft and warm. "Let's eat."

*

_Classified Location, 2012_

_I think sometimes I think shouldn't have survived the battle._

The sound of his voice when he'd said that had hit her almost as much as the words. She'd seen him standing in that shattered window looking down at the ground. She could barely see him from that distance, let alone make out his face, but something about it had unsettled her. She apparently had not been wrong. 

Now he was sound asleep, bandages on the knuckles he'd split beating the crap out of a dictator who, granted, probably deserved it. But it was so unlike him. Unless maybe now it was. You didn't always come out of a trauma the same person you were before.

Nat couldn't sleep, gong over their conversation in her mind. Clint had always seemed unbreakable to her. Made of iron and coated in teflon. He could handle what the world had to throw at him and shake it off with an irritated brow and dry quip. Half the time he protected her in the process. He never asked her for a thing. Never wanted any more than she had to give.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. She imagined he had wanted a lot of things she couldn't give, over the years. He'd just been patient, waiting for her to catch up.

Now he needed her. Probably needed things he didn't understand himself, things he had no names for. And she had no idea how to give them to him.

It was dark in the room, but she could hear his breathing pick up, getting harsher. He didn't thrash around—of course he didn't. He was him. Always calm, always still. But she could tell what a nightmare sounded like.

Bracing for him to lash out, she stretched a hand towards him and stroked his hair. When no fist came at her she started to sing softly. She had very, very few memories of her life before the Widows and the Red Room. Most were of being cold and hungry. But she remember the song her mother used to sing to get her and her sisters to sleep. Her mother's face was lost to her, but not her lullaby.

After a moment or two, he seemed to calm down. In his sleep he reached for her, pulling her body closer to his. He'd told her he didn't sleep well without her. She settled against him, still stroking his hair. He buried his face into her shoulder and she sighed. She should try to sleep, they'd need to get to their extraction point bright and early tomorrow. But sleep still felt out of her reach.

She wondered if he had ever done this. Sat up all night worried about her. Maybe when she was shot. When the reality of losing her had been so real. She'd caught him looking at her every now and again, when he thought she wouldn't notice, and there had been something a little haunted in his eyes. A little like he was afraid to look away. She felt like that right now.

He would want to run. When they got back to the States. He didn't like people, didn't feel comfortable with them. That had only gotten worse since Loki and New York. When they got back he would want to run, alone and without her, to somewhere empty and private. And she was truly afraid that when he did that she would never see him again. The peace and solitude would be too appealing, too seductive. He might be willing to let her join him, but he'd never want to leave it again.

She told herself she'd be all right. She'd been alone before him. This thing between them was just. . .

He sighed in his sleep and relaxed against her completely, and she knew she was trying to sell herself a load of bull. There was no "just" to any part of this. This was it for her. It had taken years for him to get past all her walls and armor, but he had. And now he was as much a part of her as her arm or her lungs. She was more likely to go live with him out in the wilderness, hating every minute of it, than to be without him.

She pressed her face into his hair and breathed deep so that the tears stinging her eyes wouldn't spill over. They would figure this out. She would figure it out, make it work. She was good at that.

Somehow, she must have fallen asleep like that, because the next thing she knew, dawn was starting to lighten the sky. She must have woken him when she stirred, because he shifted and looked up at her. "Hey."

"Mmm. Hi." One arm was pinned under his head, but the other was free. She rubbed at her eyes with the heel of her hand, hoping to wake herself up.

He moved so she could free her arm, and yawned. Then he sat up and rubbed his scruffy jaw. "Sorry about last night."

She bent and straightened her arm to encourage blood flow. "What are partners for?" she responded. She wished there was a better word for. . . whatever they were. If there was it didn't exist in English. Maybe German. She should research that.

He looked down at his hands. "Man. I really need to get my head screwed on straight."

And there is was. The prologue to _Maybe I should take some time away,_ and _I just need to be alone, to have some peace and quiet._ That was the beginning of the end.

"Talking to me was probably a good step," she offered.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Thank you for the ear. I hope I didn't. . ." he trailed off, not finishing the sentence. Instead he said, "Thank you for salvaging the mission."

She had never noticed how much of their relationship existed in things unsaid. In the frightening spaces between ellipses. "Well, I'm sure I owed you one. From the time with the thing."

That made him chuckle. "Undoubtedly."

Her watch read ten of six. "Time to get something to eat before extraction."

"Is there any food in here, or are we foraging?"

"You know, I didn't look. That may depend on the quality of rations." She smiled suddenly. "Oh, maybe there's fruit cup."

"Maybe it will even be the ones in little tin cans," he teased. "Like cat food."

She stuck her tongue out. "Meow." Teasing was good. The smirk that came with it even better.   
He rolled his eyes, and came over to give her a quick kiss. "Go recon the food situation. I need to shave." He did seem to be in a fairly good mood. Maybe. . . maybe she had helped him after all.

"All right." She rubbed his scruff briskly and slipped off the bed. "Maybe there'll be SPAM!" she called out as he headed for the bathroom. That got her a groan and a slammed bathroom door.

She was honestly smiling as she headed to the kitchenette. She could do this. She could keep them together and help him. She owed him at least that much.

What she needed was a plan of some sort. She couldn't just muddle through and hope for the best. Granted, that's how they'd operated for years. But he'd just taken anything in stride back then. This time she needed to reach. She'd done it before.

He slept better with her there, obviously. Sleep was important to healing. So first order of business was probably to find excuses to sleep together even off mission. Which would be breaking their rules, but he was usually amenable to that if it meant more sex.

Of course, he'd stayed with her almost a month immediately after New York. He'd been supposed to crash just the one night, and had ended up staying the whole leave. They'd simply never discussed it. When they returned to work, he'd gone back to his apartment, also without discussing it. It was as if they thought if they didn't talking about it, it wasn't actual real and therefore not breaking the rules.

Suggesting he stay with her again, just for this, would probably put his hackles up. So she'd need another reason for it. The holidays were around the corner, she could probably work that. They'd shared a very nice Christmas together last year, she could play off that.

She had never used her skills on him, not like this. Had promised herself she wouldn't. Well, if he caught on or asked what she was trying to do she'd be honest. She wanted to help him, but she wouldn't lie.

He needed something from her. She was as certain of that as she was that he wouldn't ask, no matter how much she encouraged him to. But maybe if she watched, he'd show her. 

The rations were nothing but crappy MRE's, the sort that seemed old and funky enough even she didn't want to eat them. Still, it was food. She pulled out the pot roast and the spaghetti and meatballs and carried them to the bedroom. "No fruit," she called. "I leave it to you to decide if this is sufficient."

He came out of the bathroom, face shaved. "It's food. You know the only supplies in there are a very dubious bar of hand soap." He was drying off his knife. He had shaved with his knife. She was very sorry she'd missed that.

"Can I have the pot roast, then?"

He leaned over to give her a quick kiss. "You may have whichever you wish. Spaghetti sounds like a great breakfast."

She sat on the bed to peel the lids off the MREs. "You remember that brunch place in Boston? With the crab Benedict that I was addicted to when I was recuperating?"

"I do. Standing in line for the takeout order when it was too icy for you to go out. You know one morning the woman in front of me got the last of the crab and I gave her $100 for her order."

She smiled and handed him the spaghetti. "We should go back. Now that I have two working legs. I bet we'll get a few days after this."

He nodded. "I think that would be nice. A change of scenery."

"I miss the clam chowder, too." He was used to her random food cravings, he wouldn't question it.

"Boston it is then." He looked at his watch. "Eat up, we've got to go soon."

She nodded and dug into her meal. That had gone well. She could feel him watching her for a moment, but he didn't say anything, and went back to his food. She wondered briefly if he could tell. But instead they ate in companionable silence.

They finished their meals, packed their go bag and cleaned up any evidence of their stay. Just before they headed out she reached out to take his hand. She cast about for something to say, but couldn't think of anything. She settled for smiling, squeezing his hand tightly.

He met her eyes for a moment, and just said, "Thank you."

She nodded and reached up to kiss him. "I got your back."


	2. Chapter 2

_New York, 2016_

Natasha woke to the sound of the cat yowling. Clint made a grumpy noise and put his pillow over his head, so she got up to see what the fuss was.

London was sitting in front of the patched over wall where the door had been, meowing tragically at it. "Life is very hard," she told the cat. "When I was a little girl we didn't have doors."

The cat spared her a glance, then went back to crying at the wall, like it might magically reopen if only she was loud enough. The sound had apparently gotten to Clint, as he stumbled out of the bedroom a few minutes later. "I vote we go out for breakfast."

"At least you didn't suggest cooking the cat."

He laughed. "I promised her I'd get her a new cat tree. Maybe we'll put it right there."

She didn't comment on the fact he was now making promises to the cat. "Good idea. We can shop after breakfast."

"I'm sure she just needs a little time to accept the change in her circumstances."

"Cats don't like change." She bent and scritched London's head. "They like their territory just so. I think we can both sympathize with that."

"Sometimes shaking things up can be good."

"Thinking of rearranging our nest, Clint?" London took an irritated swat at her hand so she flicked the cat's ear and straightened. She walked over to lean on him. "Or a change of scenery?"

"We do keep making noises about taking a vacation."

"Maybe somewhere close. Long weekend?"

He opened the front closet to pull out their jackets. "Is three or four days even a vacation?"

"We used to back a lot of living in three of four days when were were doing missions for SHIELD."

He held her coat out to her. "By living you mean sex."

"People do other things on vacation?" she asked, shrugging into the coat. 

"We did things in Hawaii."

"I recall a lot of food."

He opened the front door and she followed him, glad to get away from London's meowing. She hoped it stopped before Barnes and Amanda moved in. "It was just a thought," he said.

"Did you want to go back to Hawaii? Technically we don't have full time jobs. We could go lounge on the beach until someone needs us."

"I hadn't thought about where. I guess I just feel a little restless." They reached the elevator, and he hit the button.

"We could go to Boston," she offered, lounging against the wall by the elevator. "Or Maine. Maine has lots of middle of nowhere places. You like that."

"You hate the snow."

"But I love _you_."

He stopped, and he looked at her for a moment before saying. "I know."

Silence stretched and the elevator doors slid open. "Just not the Outback. I have a limit."

"I thought about asking you, you know," he said. "Back then. You were the only thing about civilization I really missed."

She leaned on his arm. "I'd have come. Probably gotten court marshaled for it." She turned to rest her chin on him so she could look up at his face. "How long do you think I would have lasted?"

"We might have just killed each other." He looked down at her. "Besides, if you hadn't been here it would have been bad. A huge number of people would be dead. Including us, probably."

"That's very true." Her fingers wove through his and gave a squeeze. "Things work out the way they're supposed to, I guess."

"I do still wish I'd been here to help you," he said after a moment.

There were many times, when it was all going down, that she would have given anything to have him with her. "It would have helped," she admitted. "But there was no way to know it was coming when you left."

"I know. But also know you needed me and I was on the other side of the planet, dicking around in the desert. I shouldn't have gone."

"No," she said quietly. "I think the real problem was that you should have gone long before you did."

The elevator opened in the lobby. "There was always something to do."

They crossed the lobby and out onto the street. "I thought keeping you busy would help." It came out sounding like a confession, which, she supposed in a way it was. "I didn't want you to leave."

It was windy and cold outside, and the air smelled a little like pending snow, though the sky was clear. He looked down at her. "Why?"

She shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat, hunching her shoulders up to protect her neck. "I didn't think you'd come back."

He actually stopped walking. "What?"

There was a growing possibility they weren't going to make it to breakfast. "I knew you'd want to go do your lone wolf thing. After Loki. I was afraid that if you did, especially before we'd figured ourselves out. . . then I'd never see you again."

"I. . ." He tipped his head back and looked up at the sky. "Jesus. _No._ I can't believe you thought that."

"I wouldn't think it _now_. But you weren't yourself then. You were talking about thinking you shouldn't have survived the Battle." She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm telling you this now."

He took a few breaths, and turned to look down the street. "Well. It's in the past now."

"Yeah," she said softly. "Water under the bridge."

She could see more than hear him sigh because of the way he was facing. "Let's go get breakfast," he said, and he started walking again.

What else could she do but follow him, shoulder still hunched protectively in her coat. At this point, she could let it go. There first half of breakfast would be awkward, but they'd find a way around it eventually.

"We should talk more," she said instead. "About the past."

He slowed his pace, and looked down at her. "What good would that do?"

"What harm would it do?" She fell into step next to him. "There's obviously a lot left unsaid. Old misconceptions and misunderstandings. I'd rather defuse the land mines before they pop up."

"Maybe it's safer they stay buried. Honestly, I'm not sure the fact that you thought I'd leave you is something I wanted to know."

"You've thought I would leave you," she said, keeping her voice calm. "Probably more than once."

"For a very long time, you flinched if I got too close. The very few times I pushed a little, it didn't go well. It's not an entirely illogical conclusion to draw."

"At the time, neither was mine. I don't think it now. I didn't think it before Loki. But you were in a very bad place and everything felt. . . fragile." She shrugged as they paused at a light. "I didn't mean it as a condemnation to your devotion to me. You were traumatized. You were dealing with a lot of shit. People have done out of character things for far less. I'm not going to apologize for wanting to be with you. To try to help instead of watching you walk away."

"That's not what—" He broke off and took a breath. "You know what, I really don't want to have a fight on a public street about something that happened 4 years ago."

Nat looked up at him for a moment and wondered how many fights they hadn't had because one or the other of them was too afraid to press on. Would having them have helped? Or ended this thing between them before it began? 

He had a point about the public street, though. So she took her own deep breath and nodded. "All right." She bit down on anything else she might have said, for fear of tipping over into passive aggressive.

"You still want breakfast?"

"I do. I believe syrup and jam would settle my feathers nicely."

That actual made him smile. "Then I will procure liquid and semi-solid flavored and dyed sugar products for you with all haste."

She smiled. "Thank you. You're good to me."

*

Barnes and Amanda moved in next door. The cat stopped meowing at the wall—only to pick it up again occasionally after Barnes brought home their three-legged dog. Panzer would bark, and London would meow back. The spot where the door had been was assuredly just lower on soundproofing than the rest of the wall. The pets were not just trying to fuck with them.

The city was starting to show the barest occasional signs of spring, mixed in with the angry last gasps of winter. Stark invited all the men out one night while the women were having one of their parties. Clint had stumbled into the apartment somewhat drunk and really hoping Nat was home, but there was no sign of her. He was a little too drunk and tired to wait up.

When he woke up she was next to him, her hair in two braids and a streak of chocolate on her cheek. He looked down at her in amusement for a moment, then shook her shoulder gently. She grumbled and swatted at him, but cracked an eye open. "What?"

"Have a good night?"

She yawned and closed the eye, curling up into a smaller ball. "Yes. Did you?"

"I did. Though I did learn something terrifying."

The eye popped open again. "What?"

"Stark is reproducing."

"Oh. Yes. Pepper said." She rolled over and cuddled into the heat of his body. "She's sick as a dog. Enough to make me glad I'm fixed."

He slid his hands down her back. "Me too. Us and our adrenaline sex. We'd have been careless sometimes."

"Mmm. Absolutely. Definitely would have been an accident or three."

He stroked the bare skin at her waist below the hem of her tank top. "Not that that's not fixable, but it would have been a pain in the ass."

She nuzzled at his neck, body arching at his touch. "Do you think you ever would have wanted to keep it?"

He stilled. "Is this one of those land mines you were talking about?"

He felt her chuckle as much as heard it and she tipped her head back so he could see her face. "No. There's no wrong answer. I won't get mad or wounded. I'm just curious."

He looked down at her for a moment. "Honestly. . . no. I'm not fond of children, and I think I'd be terrible at parenting."

She didn't look the least bit surprised. "I assumed as much." Her fingers traced the line of his jaw. "I think I like the idea in abstract. Something that's half of each of us. That we made that's just ours. But I agree the reality of it wouldn't work out. Neither of us know what to do with a child."

He hesitated a moment before saying, "If you wanted one. . ."

Her mouth quirked up. "I didn't say that. And I wouldn't want to have one if you didn't want it. It's just. . . an interesting thought experiment. Maybe somewhere out there in some parallel universe we procreated. A little redheaded archer for you and a stoic, blue eyed spy for me."

It was a nice, if impossible idea. "Maybe if our lives hadn't been so fucked up."

She nodded. "Wasn't in the cards," she said and there was no sorrow or wistfulness in her voice, just statement of fact. She reached up and wound her arms around his neck. "I'm perfectly happy the way we are. You, me and the cat."

"I am happy, too," he said. "The way we ended up."

"Good." She drew him down for a kiss and added, "We could even get a dog, if you want."

"I'm not sure London likes dogs."

"She and Panzer seem to have a rapport."

"Is that what that is?"

Nat laughed. "I have no idea, but I think it would be interesting to introduce them."

He resumed his exploration of her skin beneath the tank top. "You had fun last night?"

"I did. We watched horror movies and got our nails done. And ate our body weight in junk food. I'm told it was quite the authentic sleep over experience."

"I saw a lot of tits. None were as nice as yours."

Her smile turned lazy and seductive, in a way that sent heat through him. "Were you hoping to now?"

He kissed below her ear. "Was leaning that way," he murmured.

"I could be convinced," she told him, weaving her fingers into his hair. He felt her mouth on his throat, the top of his shoulder.

He tugged at her tank top. "Take this off. I don't have my knives."

"Mmm. Are we playing?" she asked as she wiggled her hands between them and tugged the shirt off.

He sighed, filling his hands with her entirely perfect breasts. "Not today."

She ran light fingers over the back of his hands, arching into him. "Did you have fun? Subpar tits aside?"

"I did." He rolled onto his back and tugged her on top of him. "I was sad you weren't here when I got home."

"Sorry. I came down when Stark and Thor arrived. Must have just missed you falling asleep." He enjoyed her wiggling a bit as she worked the boxers she'd been wearing down her legs. Then she was straddling him, naked, lit by the morning sun pouring in the window. "I don't know if I'd have been of any use to you if I'd been here anyway."

"This might be better," he said, tracing his fingers from her knees to her collarbone. "Worth the bad dreams."

Goosebumps rippled onto her skin and her nipples tightened. "You had bad dreams?" she asked, bending down to kiss his chest.

"Mmm. You remain my talisman against them."

For an instant he thought she might pursue the topic and utterly ruin the mood. He saw the concern in her face, the urge to ask questions. She seemed to think better of it and pressed another kiss into his skin. "No wonder you like to tie me to the bed."

That made him laugh, and feel grateful. They could talk about it later. He slid his hand between her legs instead. "I love you."

Her lids fluttered as he stroked her. "I love you, too. Especially when you do that."

"I know you," he said, listening to her breathing pick up. "I have you memorized."

"Yes," she breathed. Her nails dug into his chest as he brought her higher. It was fast, he did know all of her buttons, and she came hard, grinding into his fingers.

He expected her to sink down on top of him, to need a moment to catch her breath. Instead she reached behind herself and shoved his sweat pants down, freeing his erection. She took him in one rough thrust, burying his cock into her slick heat. Then she rode him, muscles rippling under her skin. He dug his fingers into the skin of her thighs and watched her, unable to take his eyes off the way her body moved. She was still the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

She shifted, leaning back and bracing her hands on his legs. Her head fell back and her strokes grew rough and hard. He could see everything now, the way her breasts bounced with her movement, the way he slid in and out of her body. He watched the muscles in her stomach tighten, then felt the squeeze of even stronger muscles deep inside where she held him.

Her orgasm stopped her rhythm, forcing her to bury him to the hilt as she rode it out. He held her there and bucked up, letting go, letting himself come with her. It was fast and hot and blinding. This time she did collapse on his chest, and he gently rubbed her back.

She nuzzled his neck affectionately. "Morning."

He pressed his face into her hair and wrapped his arms around her. "I dream about bad things happening to you. I guess when I know you're here safe, my subconscious finds other things to fret about."

"I have dreams like that about you," she admitted. "I suppose it's understandable. Given our lives, our histories."

"It's part of why I never slept over there. Even when one of us was sick or injured."

"I didn't mind." She kissed his jaw, working her arms around him. "I have generally preferred sleeping with you than not. You're warm and reassuring."

"And you have someplace to stick your freezing feet."

"That is vitally important," she told him solemnly. "I haven't needed to buy an electric blanket since we moved in."

He didn't know why the next thing he said came out of his mouth. "I used to dream I killed you."

Her body stiffened on his and she shifted so she could see his face. "On the helicarrier?"

"Usually. Sometimes it's elsewhere. Loki told that he would have me kill you. It seemed to amuse him, once he realized how I felt about you. I agreed, of course, because I had to. . . It still lingers, I suppose."

Nat was silent a moment. He couldn't read her expression, but the stiffness had gone out of her and she was tracing circles on his chest with her finger tips. "He told me he would have you kill me. In graphic detail. I was able to use it to my advantage but. . . I hear those words a lot. In my sleep." Her eyes flicked up to his face. "He got in my head as much as I did his." He knew exactly what a confession like that cost her.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I'm sure I helped him do that."

She shook her head. "It's not your fault. There was nothing you could have done to stop it."

"Four years later, and I still have trouble with that idea."

Her fingers tapped out a rhythm. "You fought him off as best you could. You didn't kill Fury or Hill. Didn't really put your heart into fighting me. And then you helped us take down his army. Your ledger may not be in the black, but I don't think it's as bad as you might think."

She'd said something very similar many times in the months after the battle. "I wouldn't have left," he said quietly. "I needed you to keep telling me that."

Her eyes widened a little. Then she bent close and kissed him. "I'm sorry I doubted you. I just. . . you like solitude. It's how you handle things."

"I do," he said. "But even if I needed space, I would have come back. I thought you knew how much I loved you. Even back then. Maybe especially back then."

"I figured I'd go looking for you and you wouldn't be ready. So I'd try to stay with you and well . . . me in isolation never ends well." She shook her head. "I didn't see any good end to it." Her smile was wry when she looked back at him. "Russian pessimism, I guess."

"I suppose maybe we should have talked about it."

"Yes. It would have been hard. For both of us. But it might have saved some misunderstanding."

He watched her for a moment. "I don't think I even knew how to ask for what I needed."

"I think - Maybe just trying to ask would be enough. Knowing you needed me would have meant a lot."

And here he'd been afraid of needing her too much. "I suppose I was afraid to push you. Spook you. Something. I didn't trust my judgement much."

There was silence for a moment and he could see her choosing her words carefully. "I know in the past I've been skittish. I know why you'd be afraid. But I don't feel that way anymore. Like this is too big or too overwhelming."

He thought about the conversation the guys had had the night before, about marriage and commitment. He'd told them he was sure she'd never want to. "It's a hard habit to break. Fear."

"I know," she said softly. "it's been a long road for me to get here. But I love you. There isn't anything you can say that would change that."

"I know." And he did. "But we could still hurt each other, bringing all this past stuff up."

She stroked his cheek. "The past is the past. I don't want to hurt you. But I don't want to hide from difficult discussions, either."

He turned his head to kiss her fingers. "I'm more afraid I'll hurt you."

Her thumb traced his lower lip. "Do you have a lot of awful things you never said to me?"

"No, of course not. I know you did the best you could."

"And how can I improve without feedback?"

He sifted his fingers through her hair. "I think this conversation itself is decent evidence that you've done pretty well."

She leaned her head into his touch. "You make a good point."

"Do you have awful thinks you've never said to me?" he asked with a smile. 

He assumed she was teasing when she tapped her chin thoughtfully. Then she said, "If you continue to leave your socks to pile up next to your recliner I will set them on fire."

That made him chuckle. "Will I be in the recliner at the time this fire is set?"

"Depends on my mood."

"Anything else?"

She shook her head. "Nothing comes to mind."

"Then I will pick up my socks."

She kissed him. "Thank you. Now, I think I would like a shower. And then I could make you some breakfast."

"Mmm. Sounds good."

After one more kiss she climbed off of him and the bed and sauntered to the bathroom door.


	3. Chapter 3

_Just outside of Hell, Norway, Winter, 2013_

It was the kind of mission Nat generally hated. Recon and surveillance for three weeks in the fifth coldest city in the world. No one for her to seduce, no computers to hack or buildings to break into. Just monitoring the comings and goings of a lab that might - or might not - be attempting to weaponize viruses. It was the kind of mission that made Nat hate her job and wonder who she'd pissed off to get the assignment.

But she'd volunteered for this one.

 Because much as she might hate it, it was pretty much Clint's ideal mission. Solitude in the middle of nowhere. No one to talk to or be suspicious of them. Days spent on stake out and nights cuddled up in a cabin that belonged on a calendar cover. So Nat had grit her teeth, bought new long johns and quietly talked to Maria Hill about taking the literal Mission from Hell.

They'd gotten in mid-afternoon, and she was pretty sure the Clint's deep breath of cold air and sigh when they reached their snow-covered cabin might have been worth it all on it's own. It was still chilly inside the cabin, though much warmer than outside. It had been stocked for their arrival. She found the thermostat and turned it up as Clint shrugged out of his jacket. "There's a wood stove," he said.

It was said in the tone of voice she might have announced a hotel had Egyptian cotton sheets or a jet tub. She joined him by the big metal lump, still huddled in her coat. "You gonna start a fire for me, Barton?"

"I do, in fact, know how." He looked around. "Assuming there is wood outside."

If there wasn't, maybe he'd go chop some. The thought was almost enough to warm her up. "Go check. I'll unpack and make the bed." And find every quilt in this goddamn place.

He leaned down to give her a quick kiss, and then went back outside. Without putting his jacket back on. She frowned a little at that, but went over to the bedroom nook and unpacked both of their bags. Usually they lived out of their duffels on mission, but this was an extended stay with minimal danger of being tailed or attacked. So she indulged the little luxury.

The bed was king sized with a feather bed on top of the mattress. The cabin was a vacation rental, something for people to rough it in. She'd seen similar ones in the colder parts of the US. If she didn't know Clint she'd be baffled at the type of person who would stay in one if they didn't have to.

As she made the bed she wondered idly what a different set of agents would do if they'd had the mission. One on the couch or floor by the fire, she assumed. Personally, curling up in the massive bed with Clint was the only thing she was looking forward to on this trip.

It was so quiet up here that she could hear it clearly when he began to split logs outside. She followed the sound to the nearest window where she could see him fluidly swinging an axe.

Bracing her elbows on the window frame, she propped her chin on her hands and watched him like it was her own personal peep show. It was stupid, she had seen him naked hundreds, if not thousands of times. In every weather, every type of lighting. She knew every inch of his body as well as she knew her own. But for some reason, watching him split logs in a Norway winter without his coat on wound her up like nothing had before.

Once he had a small pile of logs and a dusting of snow on his hair and shoulders, he gathered up his firewood and carried it back inside.

Had it been any warmer, she might have started stripping before he got there. Instead she lounged by the kitchen counter and watched him carry the wood to the stove, biceps straining the material of his shirt. He glanced over at her and raised an eyebrow, apparently noticing the look on her face. Then he crouched down to build the fire.

He did, in fact, know how to do it and in less than a minute she can see the wood catching off the kindling. The promise of a fire was enough to get her to shed her coat and walk over to the stove. She held her hands out to warm them and to look at something that wasn't him.

Clint bumped her shoulder. "Better?"

"Much, thank you." She looked up at him. "We're going to need wood burning things in all of our stakeout spots now."

"Well. They won't always be north of the arctic circle."

"Yeah. But I'm going to need lots of excuses for you to chop wood."

He glanced over, his gaze moving over her slowly, in a way that warmed her more than the fire. "The wood chopping? That did it for you?"

"It did all kinds of things for me," she murmured, running a hand down his arm.

He leaned forward to kiss her. "You want me to chop some more?"

The thought sent tingles through her. Who knew there were still things that could do that. She curled her other hand around his other arm and stretched up to kiss him again. "Later." She kissed his jaw. "Right now." A kiss just below his ear. "I want to get naked." She licked a line down his throat. "And generate our own heat."

She was busy, but she could feel his grin. He nudged her back a little so he could pull his shirt over his head. Which was really exactly what she wanted him to do. He looked as he always had, but she took a moment to admire him anyway. So she could picture all those muscles working in concert, lifting the axe and bringing it down.

Maybe she should have been born in some wilder time. When her man would have gone out to hunt or to battle, swinging his weapon at prey and foe alike. Maybe they were Vikings together, in some past life, fighting side by side and back to back, then celebrating their victory by fucking in a bed of furs, the blood of their enemies still staining their hands. Some echo of that still lived in her and stirred when she'd seen him in the snow with the axe.

 Shaking off the fanciful thought she ran her fingers down his chest and tucked them into the waistband of his jeans. She drew him close and kissed him, putting all her expertise into it, so he could taste exactly how much he'd wound her up. He cupped her face in his hands, and met the kiss. It was a while before he murmured, "You're wearing too much clothing."

"Mmm." She released him and stepped back, pulling her sweater off, then the t-shirt beneath it. Then the camisole beneath _that_. He was smirking at her, but she ignored him. She didn't want him thinking too hard about why she'd agreed to come on this mission.  
 She left her bright red La Perla bra on and sauntered over to the bed so she could sit and get her boots off. He knelt down in front of her to help her. "That's one of my favorites," he told her.

His nimble fingers made short work of the laces and one boot, then the other thumped on the bare wood floor. "The red?" she asked, though she knew damn well he liked this set.

"Yeah. Did you wear it for me?" He eased the zipper of her jeans down. "Lift."

She'd spent years picking out underwear she'd thought he'd like. It was one of her most closely guarded secrets. But just this once she'd fess up. "I may have taken your preferences into consideration when packing."

"Good," he said, something possessive in his voice. He peeled her jeans down her legs. She was wearing a pair of black silk long johns underneath them and he tilted a look at her that was almost exasperated.

"Fifth coldest city," she said, pointing at the window.

This time he lifted her himself to get them down. "You must have really pissed Hill off to get this." He bent his head to kiss her thigh. "I'll make it up to you."

If she felt a tiny flicker of guilt at his assumptions then his mouth on the sensitive skin of her thigh and the rough scrape of his callused hands against her legs smothered it. If he knew she'd done this for him it would taint the whole endeavor. She wanted him to relax, to get a little peace. Three weeks in the snow was a small price to pay.

She sank her fingers into his hair. "This is good start." He nodded in apparent agreement, and pushed her knees further apart. He pressed gentle kisses into her skin, hands wandering as if he didn't have her as memorized as she him.

"I like to watch your muscles move," she admitted, surprising herself. "I used to watch you train, when I first came to SHEILD."

He looked up at her. "Maybe next time I'll chop the wood shirtless."

Ignoring the rush of heat that caused in her belly she asked, "In the snow?"

He stroked her sex with his fingertips, distracting her. She wondered if she ought to be embarrassed at how wet she was. "Sure, why not?"

"'Cause it's cold?" she offered. He had a particular callus on his middle finger that apparently previous girl friends had complained about. It was currently grazing her clit and felt so good she could feel her legs trembling.

"I don't feel the cold anymore," he replied. He pressed and she actually gasped. He rubbed her there, as if massaging her, and she lost the train of the conversation for a moment.

She spread her legs wider, bracing her feet on the mattress so she had enough leverage to lift up into his hand. "Not - at all?" He shook his head, but before she could process that anymore, he brought his mouth down on her.

Her thoughts shattered. He was so fucking good at this. She could feel his rough hands on her, holding her open so he could lick and suck at her. Her teeth dug into her lip, stifling her reaction, until she remembered there was dozens of snow blanketed miles from their nearest neighbor. They were alone, with as much privacy as you could have in the civilized world and Clint was licking and sucking at her like she was the ripest, sweetest fruit he'd ever tasted.

So she let go. She moaned. She whispered his name and cried it out to heavens. She begged and she cursed. And when she came it with a long, desperate wail that seemed to come from her very soul.

Very gently, he eased her down on the mattress, because her body seemed to have gone limp. Then he brushed her hair off her forehead. She didn't know when he'd gotten off the floor and onto the bed. Time had gotten a little fuzzy there. "You with me?" he whispered.

She nodded and cupped his face in her hands, unnamable emotion pounding in her chest. She felt oddly like something inside her had shattered and she needed him to put it back together. She kissed him, but it wasn't enough. 

"I need you," she whispered on his mouth, even as she worried it was too much, too big to talk about. "Need to feel you. Please." _Please fuck me._ she almost said, but couldn't get the words out. They were too coarse, too common for what she was feeling right then. So she kissed him again and said, "Make love to me."

He lifted his head, and she watched emotions shift in his eyes, things he couldn't or wouldn't say. Then he nodded, dipped his head and gave her a slow kiss laced with love and tenderness. The kind that reminded her how much she did need him, and how close she'd come to losing him.

Tears burned the back of her eyes and she fought them back. If there was anything that would stop this in its tracks it would be the sight of her crying. She cupped his face as they kissed, legs tangling with his. He'd lost his pants somewhere, probably when he'd climbed on the bed, and she could feel the hot, hard length of his erection against her thigh.

She opened for him and he moved over her, the broad head of his cock sliding against her wet folds. She slid a hand down to help guide him to her entrance and then he was sliding inside. A desperate little sound escaped her. There was no reason it should feel different than it had all the other times they'd done this. But it did. It felt. . . intense, special. 

He caught her hand, lacing their fingers together. There was something very intimate about holding hands like that, echoing the physical and emotional connection. She squeezed his hand as he started to move, and he raised his head to meet her eyes.

She rocked with the rhythm of his thrusts. He had her pretty well pinned into the soft feather bed, but she could move a little, cant her hips to take him deeper. She was still wearing the bright red bra, and she could see the taut peaks of her nipples outlined in the silk. All her skin felt oversensitive, and each graze of his chest sent jolts of pleasure through her, pooling at her core.  
 She thought of the flare of possessiveness he sometimes allowed himself and the dark, intense look in his eyes as he watched her. She licked her lips and whispered, "I'm yours. I've always ever been yours."

That made him shudder a little, and he sucked on her lower lip. "You are mine," he growled. It was harder now, faster. 

"Yes," she whispered. "Yes. Yes." She liked that. Liked the growl and the possession and the way he was pinning her into the bed. The way the friction of his movements wasn't quite enough and yet almost too much.

She gave her self over to it, the way she had his mouth earlier. She tipped her head back on the bed and relaxed into him and it almost felt like he was going deeper, touching places he never had before. Desperate little sounds were coming from her mouth, in a voice she didn't recognize as her own. She felt his mouth on her throat, kissing, then sucking hard enough she knew it would bruise.  
 Then her body reached its limit and she was coming, pulsing around him in time to her heartbeat. It was intense, making her shake and tremble the way she hadn't in a long, long time. And if a few tears slipped out and pooled in her hair, at least she could blame them on how good it all felt. She could feel him tense and hear him groan as he followed her. "Tasha," he mumbled against her neck, and she was surprised to hear how choked his voice sounded.

He'd loosened his grip on her hands enough she could let go and cup the back of his head. "I know," she whispered. "I'm here."

"You still feel like the only steady thing in the universe," he whispered.

She stroked his hair. "Sometimes, so do you."

Eventually he lifted his head, bracing on an elbow to look down at her. "I can't feel cold anymore. He did it to me. I don't know why."

As side effects went, that was probably pretty mild. "Scars come in all shapes and sizes," she offered. She ran a hand across his chest. "Be careful of frost bite."

"Probably shouldn't visit the south pole any time soon."

"For all manner of reasons," she agreed.

He bent to kiss her, slow and tender again. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome. Thank you." They did not discuss what the gratitude was for. Either because neither of them could entirely articulate it, or because it would involve confessing all those things they didn't say. But she understood, and so did he.

After a little more kissing and gentle touches he got up to stoke the fire a little more. Nat shed her bra and pulled back the sheets on the bed, climbing underneath to wait for him. It was barely evening, they'd have to get up and manage food at some point. But if she wanted to spend the next few hours naked and cuddled against him in bed, that was her prerogative.

He turned off the lights and climbed into the bed beside her. He pulled her against his side just like she wanted. She could rest her head on his chest and listen to the sound of his steady heartbeat and the crackle of the fire. "You know what this reminds me of?" he asked.

She searched her mind, but couldn't think of a mission that matched this. "What?" she asked.

"Hawaii. Laying in bed listening to the ocean. Felt like it was just the two of us at the very end of the earth."

The climate and surroundings couldn't be more different, but she knew exactly what he meant. "We should go back someday. That was a good time."

"Even though I spent six hours staring at lava?"

"I conceded it was sort of hypnotic."

"You won't be in a cast. We could go snorkeling."

"And the submarine. They have a pirate cruise now, too."

He kissed the top of her head. "Sounds like a great idea."

She curled into his heat and closed her eyes. It was probably too early to sleep, but maybe she'd doze. "Next time we have a vacation."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Events in this chapter also occur in chapter 1 of _Welcome to the New Age_. You don't have to read that to understand this. But that's gonna happen a lot more often in coming chapters.

_New York Airspace, July, 2016_

Clint hated wasting time. The last fourteen hours could easily have been spent at home on his arm chair or in bed with Nat. Instead he'd spent half the night flying to Central America and the other half scouring the jungle for a Hydra base on what had turned out to be bad intel. He was understandably tired and cranky as he maneuvered the jet through the New York skyline.

 Based on what chatter he could hear from the back, Barnes shared his annoyance. Though his was more at being dragged away from a family wedding he'd been attending with Doc Newbury. Clint wasn't much for social events, but he understood the frustration of thwarted vacation sex quite well. The other sniper had his sympathies.

He felt the landing was a little rough, to his standards, but nobody in the back seemed to notice. With the flick of a switch he lowered the back ramp to everyone could get off, and then turned and stretched. Out in the hangar, Pepper and Hill were standing on the Wife Line. He'd never seen Hill come to meet a jet before. And he was surprised not to see Doc. Hill's face was blank. Pepper's was upset. 

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

It was obvious the bad news was for Barnes before Clint caught anything that was being said. Rogers was holding his friend's shoulder like he might need to keep him standing. Nat had stopped at the foot of the ramp and Clint reached her in time to hear Hill say, "About an hour ago, Amanda’s car pinged. It was in a head on crash. Local law enforcement in on the scene. They say it ran off the road and into a tree.”

It was Steve who asked, "How is Amanda?"

Pepper answered instead of Hill, her voice a little shaky. “She wasn’t found at the scene. Her cell phone is offline but was also not found with the car.”

He glanced at Nat, and was already heading back up the ramp when she began asking questions. He went back to the cockpit, flicking switches back on. "JARVIS, you have the location for Newbury's car?"

"Pulling up coordinates now." There was a pause. "Fuel reserves adequate for the distance."

It wasn't far. He turned and went back out to the ramp, just in time to hear Hill trying to explain to Barnes why he shouldn't go. Something he well knew would be a waste of words. It wasn't a matter of if Barnes would go, it was a matter of when, by what vehicle, and if someone was going to get punched before departure. Best to cut that off at the knees. "I'll take you," Clint said.

They all turned to look at him, even Barnes, who had started to look murderous at Hill's abbreviated attempt at talking him down. Clint hooked a thumb back at the jet. “JARVIS sent the coordinates to the cock pit. We’ve got enough gas to make it.”

“And Barton steals another plane,” Hill muttered, but she had that look that meant she was trying not to smile.

Nat was grinning at him like he was a knight in shining armor. “Has a sort of symmetry to it."

Stark wrapped an arm around Pepper and announced it wasn't stealing if he gave them use of his plane and just like that Nat, Barnes and Rogers were climbing back up the ramp.

"Sit down, buckle up," he said, firing up the engines. He felt more alert than he had five minutes ago. Adrenaline was wonderful for that sort of thing. When he got clear of the skyscrapers he radioed ahead for them to clear some space for him to land. Then he glanced over at Nat. "I'd have stolen it."

"I'd have helped," she told him, then smiled. "But I'm grateful we have a team that makes sure we don't have to."

"It didn't help we were hiding," Clint replied. "I think if we'd been, you know, like this, SHIELD would have given me transport if you were dying. I hope, anyway."

She glanced back at Barnes and Rogers, then out the window of the jet. "I think if we'd been 'out' for lack of a better word, it would have been different. I can think of a few times that other agents got pulled out to got see a loved one." She paused. "Coulson pulled me when you were attacked by Loki. I don't think that was just about me being the only one who could talk Banner into coming."

"Well. We weren't exactly a secret to Coulson." He glanced over at her. "I'm still amazed you talked Banner into coming back."

"It wasn't easy. He was pretty convinced Fury wanted the cube as a weapon. And he told me outright seduction wouldn't work as I looked young enough to be his daughter."

"Fury _did_ want the cube to make weapons. But then, Banner's pretty smart. So what worked?" 

After a slight hesitation she said, "I told him about you. Us. Showed him the last texts you'd sent me - something about suspecting two scientists were sleeping together and wondering if we were so obvious. And that you didn't care because I made you a better person." She paused, looking out the window, but likely seeing something else entirely. "I told him the odds of getting you back without his help were slim. And he stared at me a moment, probably trying to decide if I was playing him or not. Then he told me love was a worthy cause and said we should go as there was no time to lose."

He looked out at the clouds, not knowing what to make of that. It was very out of character for her to talk about them with anyone. Let alone a stranger. He hated that part of him wondered if she _had_ been playing Banner, at least a little. "We were still pretending back then," he said. "That it wasn't."

"I know," she said softly. "But I'd started to realize I was pretending and I just. . . needed to get you back."

He began his descent, the road flares easy to see. They'd set up just enough space for a helicopter to put down. The lot of them were lucky he was good at this. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

She looked surprised. "It never came up. Immediately afterward there were more important things to talk about and then. . . we stopped talking about it."

He set the jet down in the middle of the road by the accident site, knowing they needed to put this aside right now. "Ready?"

She nodded, unbuckling her harness as he hit the button to lower the ramp. Barnes and Rogers were on the pavement by the time Clint and Nat reached them. Barnes headed for the embankment leading to the crash site and Rogers watched him. "Could one of you-?"

"I got him," Nat said. "Talk to the agents."

So Barnes and Nat went down to check out the car, and Rogers to talk to the agents. Clint walked the road, taking the whole scene in. She'd been run off the road. The second car—a truck or SUV based on the size of the tires, had parked in front of her. He could see damaged branches where someone had gone into the woods. He was just about to call out to Nat when he saw her and Barnes head in just that direction.

Instead he found where whomever had come out, a little bit further up the road. The assailants hadn't quite known how to orient themselves, coming out of the woods too far from their vehicle. He studied the trail in the trampled grass. They'd been dragging something, he was pretty sure a body. Too heavy, he guessed, to be Doc. Probably a man. Bleeding heavily, whomever it was.

Clint squinted at a flash of silver in the grass, realizing it was a very bloody pair of scissors. He looked back towards the local LEO's and Hill's agents, still swarming around the car. They hadn't even noticed this little tableau up the road. He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled.

They all looked over. He gestured, mainly to Rogers, but assumed the rest of them would come, too. Sure enough, Rogers slapped the guy nearest to him on the arm and jogged over trailed by two of Hill's agents and a couple of cops.

He nodded his head towards the trail and the blood and the scissors. Then he looked at Rogers. "Well, I think she stabbed somebody."

Rogers looked at the grass, and then back at him. "And you think that because. . ."

"That's a ton of blood, trail goes back into the woods. Those are gauze scissors. You don't get that kind of bleeding from a wound made with gauze scissors unless you know exactly where to put it. Like a doctor would, for example." Rogers's eyebrows went up. "She killed the man who slashed her face with a scalpel," he added. Killing somebody, up close and personal like that, was something that a person either had in them or they didn't. And Doc sure as shit did. He looked back at the grass. "She took one of them down."

"Unfortunately, I think there were plenty left to get her in the car," Rogers said grimly.

A high, three note whistle pierced the air and Clint glanced down the road to see Nat and Barnes had emerged from the road and were waving them towards the jet. 

Rogers squinted a moment. "They found something." Sure enough, Barnes had what looked like a red-cased phone in his hand. 

The two of them headed back to the jet. When they got there Nat was waiting on the ramp. "We found her phone, the battery is dead but we think video may have been running."

"We should be able to pull that up," Clint replied, and she was already heading inside to do just that.

It took Nat a couple minutes to fiddle with the phone and talk to the on-board JARVIS. Then the main screen had a blurry image of green. Clint heard Rogers say something quietly to Barnes and the other man's firm response of, "She's not dead."

The video started, showing a beat up looking Doc, sitting on a patch of grass, back against a brick wall. Her knee was wrapped in a bulky ACE bandage and she had a square of gauze on her forehead slowly turning red.

She seemed to catch her breath a moment before straightening and focusing on someone outside the camera's view. She spoke to whomever it was. Her voice didn't make it legibly to the mic, but he could read her lips. Before he could comment, Rogers asked, "Can you do anything about the sound?"

Nat shook her head. “Maybe when we get to the Tower.” Clint could feel her eyes on him. “Clint, can you make it out?”

Of course he could, and she knew that. "She said, 'You have me at a disadvantage'.'' There were murmurs from the person off camera, then Doc laughed and spoke again, and Clint repeated it. "Not interested in leaving my current employer." He didn't catch the next thing she said, because a man stepped into the frame. He approached her, and sure as hell she drove a pair of scissors into his thigh. Hit the femoral artery from the way the blood spurted when she yanked them out. When the man went down, she stabbed him in the throat. Rogers glanced back at Clint, and he lifted a shoulder. People were always surprised by the things he noticed.

She was trying to get the downed man's pistol out of its holster when two more men rushed forward and grabbed her arms, yanking her back. Clint couldn't help but wonder how it would have gone down if she'd gotten the weapon in hand.

Doc was struggling rather impressively until a third man, in a crisp suit instead of tac gear, stepped into frame and slammed his well-shod heel into her bandaged knee. The sound she made was loud enough to reach the phone's mic. It made Barnes visibly flinch and seemed to echo against the walls of the jet. When the two goons pulled her up, Suit Man turned such that Clint could see his mouth, and he read the words as calmly as he could. "They told me you’d be difficult. That will make this more fun."

They dragged her off screen and the camera got an excellent shot of the Hyrda logo on one of the goons’s arms as they passed.

Barnes bit off a curse and stomped out of the jet and down the ramp. Nat caught Rogers's arm when he tried to follow. "Give him a second," she said softly.

"We'll find her," Clint said.

Rogers nodded, still looking a bit ill. "I don't think he's going to sleep until we do."

"He won't," Nat said quietly. "Not really. Don't expect he'll eat much, either." Clint turned to look at her, wondering if she was speaking from experience. "Finding him things to do will help," she added. "Feeling useful."

Barnes reappeared on the ramp and came back up. "Okay," he said, voice rough. "Let's go."

Clint nodded, going back up to the cockpit and raising the ramp. A moment later, they were lifting off the ground. It was a long, silent, tense flight back to the Tower. Clint was almost glad for the complicated landing, it gave him something to focus on.

Barnes and Rogers took the phone and went to update Hill and anyone else who was on the case, leaving him and Nat alone together. In the elevator on the way up to the apartments she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. He pressed his into her hair. "You okay?"

She shrugged, still hanging onto him. "I'm worried. She's my friend. I don't have an abundance."

"We'll find her. She's tough. Probably the most capable of handling herself of all your lady-friends."

"She is rather handy with common medical equipment."

The elevator doors opened, and he tugged her into the hallway. "Some sleep would do us good."

"Mmm," she followed him obediently. "I agree. Sleep was a long time ago." He opened the apartment door and they went inside. London was hovering near the door, whining, but he could see her water and food bowls weren't empty. So he took Nat into the bedroom, and they stripped out of their grimy tac gear in silence. Clint debated silently if he had the energy for a shower.

Nat seemed to be making the same decision. Eventually, she peeled off her lacy pewter colored bra and panties and slipped into the bed. She patted his side lazily. "We can wash the sheets."

Good enough for him. He climbed in beside her and pulled her close, their legs tangled and her head tucked under his chin. "You didn't sleep?" he asked quietly.

She sighed. "Not really, no. The night after I got Banner I fell asleep hugging the shirt I'd stolen from you, crying my eyes out. That was the most continuous sleep I got until after the Battle."

The idea of her crying herself to sleep shocked the hell out of him, and was at the same time painful to think about. "Tasha," he whispered, his voice sounding strange to his own ears.

One of her arms was looped around his waist and she squeezed him lightly. "It was a bad time."

He rubbed her back. Then and right after had been a terrible time. "When I was stuck in Australia trying to get home I didn't really sleep. Worry is good for that. Though I think the only tears were after you turned up safe." 

She sighed a little. "I'm still sorry about how I handled those messages. I could have done it better."

He sighed himself. This wasn't the best topic for the two of them being as tired as they were. "I wasn't trying to bring that up."

"I know." She pressed a little kiss to his shoulder. "We should get some sleep."

He tucked the blankets around them better and closed his eyes. "I agree."

Nat curled closer, a familiar weight on his shoulder and arm. "Love you," she mumbled against his skin. He nuzzled her hair as he drifted off to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Nat woke up with the dawn the next day, as she usually did. Clint was sprawled across his side of the bed, snoring softly. She watched him a moment, letting her emotions run riot as she did so. Yesterday with Bucky had brought up a lot of old hurt. She wanted to try to let herself feel it, hoping it would heal better this time. There was lingering guilt from a dozen long dead slights, as well as fear of losing Clint again. All tied up with love and affection so strong she didn't know how she'd ever convinced herself it was anything else.

When she felt calm again, she got up and showered off the jungle and forest grime, then dressed and went out to feed London and figure out breakfast. She filled London's kibble bowl then checked both her and Clint's phones as well as the apartment terminal to make sure there hadn't been any developments on Amanda's abduction. No word, so she opened the fridge to inspect their inventory.

She heard movement in the bedroom, and then a moment later the shower came on. She looked at the carton of eggs, and debated between making breakfast and going to spy on him through the foggy glass. You'd think eventually she'd get tired of looking at him, but that didn't seem to be the case.

Deciding that asking if he had a breakfast preference was the perfect excuse to stare at him through the glass, she went back to the bathroom, knocking lightly to warn him. "Savory breakfast or sweet?" she asked the hazy but still delightful shape in the shower.

"Hmmm," he said as he considered. "Sweet." Before she could leave, the water shut off, so she lingered. He didn't take particularly long showers, since he didn't shave in them. He stepped out and wrapped a towel around his waist. He had quite the bruise on his shoulder, probably from the mission.

Impulsively, she stepped forward to kiss it. "You sore?"

She could hear more than see his smile. "Not anymore." He went over to the sink and pulled out his straight razor. Watching him shave, with his strop and brush and soap and blade that you could clearly kill someone with, was far more entertaining than it would be with a plastic Bic and a can of shave gel. "French toast sounds particularly delicious," he commented and the razor whipped up and down on the strop.

"I can certainly do that. Maybe bacon on the side?" She leaned a shoulder on the door frame to watch him work.

"I will never say no to bacon." He dunked the brush under the water, swirled it in the soap cup, and began lathering his face. 

This would be a good time to start cooking, as he couldn't talk easily when lathered up. But she hung around long enough to watch the first few swipes of the blade, just to make the trip worth it for her. He kept his face still, but glanced over at her with his eyes. This was another one of those things she ought to get tired of, but didn't.

She grinned at his glance and watched another moment or so before pushing off the jamb and heading back to the kitchen to gather her french toast supplies. If she was feeling adventurous, maybe she'd stuff it with some of the tropical jelly Stark and Pepper had brought back from their last trip to Hawaii.

The toast was on the griddle when he came back out of the bedroom in jeans and a t-shirt. "Smells good."

"It's filled with lilioki butter," she informed him, waggling the jar in his general direction. "For extra decadence."

He came over and leaned on the counter. "You do always find processed fruit product soothing in times of stress."

Come to think of it, the stuffed french toast probably was her trying to accommodate her sudden desire for canned fruit in syrup. "But it's fancy processed fruit, so it's better."

He reached out and brushed his knuckles against her arm. It reminded her of the way he used to touch her before they were lovers. "You want to talk?"

She repressed her first instinct, which was to shrug and claim she didn't know what to say or that talking wouldn't help. Both were true, in their way. But if she had gleaned anything from her conversations with the wives club it was that even painful conversations had a purpose. "I remember how relieved I was when it became apparent you were back from whatever Loki had done." She pursed her lips, because that wasn't entirely accurate. "Well, maybe not 'back' but at least on your way. Not lost forever. And sometimes I feel bad that I sort of ruined that moment for you when I texted you after SHEILD fell."

"It didn't do anything to damper my relief that you weren't dead," he replied. She got the sense he might have chosen those words carefully.

Looking over at him she said, rather pointedly, "But?"

He watched her for a moment. "It was a shitty thing to do."

It felt oddly better to have him call her on it. As if some small tension in her shoulders had released. "It was," she agreed, looking back at the toast long enough to flip it. "I'm sorry. If I could do it again I'd do it differently."

"Would you not take it back? Or not say it at all?"

Fair question, she supposed. "I wouldn't take it back. I'd tell you I wished I'd said it to you in person first, but that it didn't make any less real."

"I admit I thought you said it because you thought you were going to die. And it was just. . . what you thought I'd want to hear. Maybe even what the Widow thought I'd want to hear."

She looked up at him. "I've never lied to you. I may have played you a bit here and there over the years, but I've come to realize that happens in normal couples too. But I never lied to you. I said it because I didn't want to die without you knowing it. Which is different, I think, than what you mean."

He blew out a breath. "Well, I did believe it was sincere until you took it back."

Wincing, she moved the french toast off the griddle. "My only defense is that I had had a really bad couple of days." She turned the griddle off and turned to him. "And I am very sorry about that."

"I know you are," he said. "I know. And it was years ago. I suppose some wounds don't heal as well as you'd expect them to."

She stepped close and wrapped her arms around him. "Feel any better having said it?"

"I think so." He rested his chin on the top of her head. "I know I used to be bulletproof. I think I lost that after New York, and never got it back."

"I know. I realized it eventually." She squeezed him a little. "It's okay. We can both be a little banged up. Prop each other up best we can."

"I used to be sure of things. How I felt. How you felt. And I was okay with that. And then after I wasn't sure of anything anymore."

She tipped her head back to look at him. "Are you sure of me now?"

Clint hesitated. "Yes. Most days. Sometimes I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop."

It hurt, a little, but wasn't entirely unexpected. They had more time of uncertainty then they did steadiness. "Anything I can do to help settle that for you?"

"I don't have a checklist," he replied. "I didn't back then and I don't now."

Smiling, she kissed his jaw. "I suppose I will continue to muddle along, doing my best, then."

"That's probably all we can do." He nudged her. "Breakfast is getting cold."

"Yes." She let her arms drop. "Sit, I'll bring it over." He nodded, kissed her forehead, and then went over to the table. She'd already set it with their plates and utensils, so she brought over the plate of french toast and bacon, then went back for the coffee pot. She was relieved that despite the tough conversation she didn't feel overly awkward as she sank into her chair.

He took a few bites before saying, "Your fruit goo is delicious," around a mouthful of french toast.

Coming from a man who ate MREs without complaint that was rather damning with faint praise. but she smiled and inclined her head. "Thank you."

Clint finished his french toast, and was munching on his bacon before he said, "You're still worth it."

She blinked in surprise, then smiled again. "I'm glad." She reached over and covered his free hand with hers. "So are you." 

He turned his hand over and laced their fingers together. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course. Anything."

"Why did it take. . . almost dying, I guess. Why did it take so long?"

She considered her words carefully. "I think I had been trying to show it without saying it for a long time. Then Loki happened and. . . I don't know. I was focused on you, trying to help you. I didn't want to say it and have you think I'd said it just to keep you around or make you happy. I suppose I figured the right moment would present itself to me."

"I didn't think I needed to hear the words. They're just words, right?" He shrugged. "But maybe I did."

"After I realized you loved me I tried to . . . reach. To push past my comfort to show you that you were important to me." She sipped her coffee. "I knew that you would need more someday, but I'd hoped it would be enough for a while."

"It _was_ ," he said. "Really. Before, anyway."

"Sooner or later we'd need to move on to the next level. Pepper and Stark have been dancing around each other almost as long as we have and now they're having a baby. We move slow, and occasionally life or death situations force our hand, but we are still human." She lifted a shoulder. "Maybe without Loki you would eventually have seen my unspoken 'I love yous' for what they were. But that's not how it happened."

"Every so often, I'd be almost certain I did," he said after a moment. "I just didn't trust myself."

She stroked her fingers through his hair. "Our roads have never been very easy. But I'm very happy. Here, with you. More than I ever thought I would be."

He turned his head to kiss the inside of her wrist. "Good. So am I."

"Good," she said with an imperious little nod that made him smile. Then she leaned across the table to kiss him. He gave her a little tug and she moved out of her chair and into his lap. His hand dug into her hair, and there was an intensity in the kiss that surprised her. Or maybe it didn't.

She sunk into him, pressing against his chest as the kiss deepened. She let her nails scrape his scalp a little and was rewarded with a light tug on her hair in return. He slid his arms under her and stood, plates and glasses clanking as they bumped the table. Something probably spilled. She didn't care.

He waited for her to hitch her legs around his waist before stepping away from the table in what felt like the general direction of their bedroom. She was too busy kissing him to get a proper heading. There was a time they would have knocked the dishes off and done it on the table. . . or the kitchen island, or on the couch. Perhaps they were getting domesticated, but she was grateful when her back hit the bed.

With none of her usual grace she tugged his t-shirt up and off, tossing it to one side so she could run her hands over his bare back and chest. He was warm and smell of soap and a shaving cream. She occasionally brought him new foams to try and he would cycle through them for her. But he favored a very plain, old fashioned one with a faint acrid scent. It had become an oddly soothing scent for her.

He tugged her shirt up, lifting her a little so he could get it off. She had on a very plain t-shirt bra—it hadn't seemed like a lingerie sort of day. It did, however, have a front clasp, which made him smile. There were all different flavors of tempting.

Tracing light, idle patterns with her finger tips, she watched him contemplate her bra, then asked, "Would you like me to tie you up?"

He looked up at her and raised an eyebrow. It had been a long time since he'd asked her about that. The last time they'd had stress-sex, she thought. Funny the circumstances that brought it up again. But he smiled. "As long as you promise to be gentle," he replied, a little teasing in his voice.

She tilted her head and smiled. "Of course."

"Are you giving the orders, then?" he asked, dipping his head to kiss her throat.

"I think that's how it goes. Topping from the bottom is considered rude."

He fiddled with the bra clasp again, and she realized he wasn't going to open it, not until she told him to. "Manners are important."

She let him wait another moment or two as she completed her tour of his chest before saying, "Open it."

He opened it with great care, in opposition to his usual tendency to damage her garments when they were playing. This was the sort of bra he'd have broken. It was a momentary reminder of how good he could be handling fragile things. She sat up a bit to shrug out of the garment, then looked at him a moment. "Touch them." He followed her instructions exactly, cupping both breasts in his palms and stroking his thumbs across her nipples.

Her nipples tightened in response and she sighed. She really did love his calluses. His previous lovers must have been crazy. She leaned forward and kissed his, digging her hand in his hair and giving a little tug. She felt him smile against her mouth, and for a while they just got lost in the kiss. When he finally lifted his head, he asked, "What next?"

"Hmm." She nipped at his chin, then leaned back. "Lie down," she ordered him, nudging him towards her side of the bed, where the cuffs were hidden.

He kissed her nose and rolled off her, stretching out on her side of the bed. She leaned over him to dig out the cuffs and fasten them around his wrists. She deliberately let her breasts dangle in his face, just out of reach.

When he was thoroughly tied down she rocked back on her heels to study him. She had to admit, there was a little thrill in having him at her disposal this way. He gave the cuffs a good yank, she imagined just to test them. He was much stronger than her—if he really wanted to she was pretty sure he could break them. But what was the fun in that? So he just raised an eyebrow at her again.

With a saucy smile, she patted his stomach and climbed off the bed. "I'll be right back." She sauntered out of the room, adding, "Sit tight," over her shoulder.

She went to the kitchen and filled a coffee mug with ice, then another with hot water from the tap. She counted to ten in her head, just to make him wait a little longer, then slipped back into the room. She set the mugs on the floor next to the bed, then got to work on the fly of his jeans.

His eyes followed her. "I'm almost afraid to ask."

"Well, I can't exactly unleash the vibrator on you until my patience wears out." She slid his jeans down, dragging his boxer briefs with it. "Fun as revenge might be." There had been one particular night a few months back that he'd decided to see exactly how many orgasms she could have. It had ended in her having to use her safeword and a trip to Amanda for antibiotics for a urinary tract infection. He'd lost toy privileges for a couple weeks.

She kneeled at the edge of the bed and picked up the first mug, filling her mouth with hot water. She held it there a moment to absorb the heat, then swallowed it and leaned up to take his half hard erection in her mouth. Air hissed through his teeth and he bucked up against her. 

She braced both arms across him, one on his hips one on his thighs, in an attempt to hold him down. His breathing changed as she worked on him and she hummed in pleasure, letting him feel the vibrations. When he was fully hard and her mouth felt like it had cooled to normal, she let him go an repeated the process with a mouthful of ice water. She heard him yank the cuffs again and make a sound that she honestly couldn't tell if it was pain or pleasure. But that was the point, wasn't it? He knew the safeword.

Switching back to heat, she repeated the process two or three times, until he was straining against the cuffs in earnest. Then she stood and slipped her pants down, surprised at how wet she'd grown. "I'm starting to see why you like this," she said, voice husky.

He was breathing hard, not taking his eyes off her. "Yeah. Likewise."

Crouching, she fished a half melted piece of ice out of the mug and held it out for him to take in his mouth. Then she leaned forward so he could reach her nipple. "Suck," she whispered. He leaned up to do so, and the shock of both the ice and the warmth of his mouth hit her at once.

She nuzzled his hair. "If I really wanted to torture you, I'd grab my little friend in the drawer and make you watch as aI get off."

He released her breast to murmur, "Anything you want."

She loved him for knowing she needed the nudge, the permission, for lack of a better word, to push that far. Blindly, she dug in her drawer and found the little plastic egg she liked best and flicked it on. She shifted and straddled him, bracing her knees next to his ribs so he could keep sucking at her breasts. She brought the vibrator between her thighs and pressed it to her clit, shuddering at the intense sensation. It had a rhythm to it, she like that better than the ones that only had a single frequency. It took her a moment to realize the pull of his mouth on her nipple was matching the same pulsing beat.

Groaning, she sank her free hand into his hair and held him to her. She began to rock against the vibrator, heat tightening low in her belly, making her legs quake. She felt the scrape of his teeth, and the little spark of pain shot through her. Was that allowed? She didn't know, but it was just exactly what she needed.

She dug her knees into the mattress and let go, shaking with the force of her orgasm. She could feel her body pulsing against her hand, changing the sound the vibrator made. Keeping it pressed to her let her draw out the pleasure a little longer. When it grew too intense she clicked it off and tossed it aside, slumping onto Clint. He released her breast and she slid down enough so she could kiss him. It was a messy, artless kiss, but her limbs were liquid.

It took a few moments to catch her breath. When she had, she whispered in his ear, "What would you do to me if I unhooked you right now?"

He turned his head enough to catch her earlobe in his teeth. "Flip you over and fuck you until you forgot who you were."

She shuddered at his words, grinding into him instinctively. Partially because she didn't think she could move with enough coordination to fuck him, and partially because fun as being in control was, it wasn't the same as being on the other side of it, she reached up and unfastened the cuffs. Sure enough, he pushed her arms out of the way and rolled them over—and he wasn't at all gentle about it. She gasped when he thrust hard into her.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she sank her fingers into his hair and held on, lifting up to meet his thrusts. It was rough and hard, but she was so slick, so turned on, that all she felt was pleasure and heat building once again. He pushed one of her legs up, higher and higher until her knee hit the bed beside her shoulder, until she felt a burn in the back of her thigh. He liked to play with her flexibility sometimes, when he was in a certain mood. It made everything tighter, and she cried out at the sensation.

He lifted his head and met her eyes, looking less feral that she expected. His eyes were dark and intense, but not wild. She realized that maybe she hadn't entirely been in control, even when she tied him up. That this was just another turn of their game, and he'd gotten exactly what he wanted.

She nipped at his lower lip and he smiled a little, pressing her harder into the mattress. "Clint," she gasped, then repeated it, over and over, as her body began to tighten, bucking up to him as she came again. It was hard, intense, and blood roared in her ears as she clung to him, riding it out. Distantly, she felt him shudder and knew he was coming with her. She couldn't fathom how he'd hung on that long—but then he always did.

He dropped his head to the mattress beside hers and breathed, "Jesus."

Too stunned to do much more than chuckle breathlessly, she stroked his hair off his face and nodded, kissing him tenderly.

They kissed a while, and then he whispered, "I adore you."

She smiled and rubbed her nose against his. " _YA obozhayu tebya_."

"I don't know what that means, but I'm going to assume it's good," he replied.

_Da_ ," she assured him, teasing now.

He lifted his head, brushing damp strands of hair off her forehead. "Do you remember when we were up in that cabin in the middle of nowhere in Norway?"

"In Hell? Vividly."

"That first night was the surest I ever was."

She leaned up to rest her head on his. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"Mmm?"

"I requested that assignment. Because I knew how much you'd like it."

She watched him grin. "Really?"

Letting out a relieved breath, she nodded. "I swore Hill to secrecy. I figured it was just about your ideal mission and you'd been so. . . off since that thing with the dictator." She touched his cheek. "It was nice to see you smile."

He kissed her palm. "You could have told me."

"I wasn't sure how you'd react. I was having as much trouble reading you as you were me. I didn't want you to feel guilty that I was doing it for you. You assumed I'd pissed Hill off and I just let it go."

"I know it makes you uncomfortable when I have. . . sacrificed for you," he said, no animosity in his voice. It was just a fact. "But I think it would have done me good to know. At the time I didn't feel particularly, well, worthy of you. And yet you faced snow for me."

"For three weeks," she reminded him, waving three fingers at him.

"Thank you," he said. "I mean that. That trip helped."

Face softening, she kissed him. "I'm glad. And you're right, that first night was about as loud as I could say it without saying it."

"I almost did, but then I was afraid I might ruin it."

She wondered what she would have done if he had said it. She might have panicked. But she remembered how overwhelmed with emotion she had been at that moment, how close to the surface everything she'd been hiding from had been. It was possible, more than possible, that she would have said it back and meant every word.

"I love you so much I'd even go back if you wanted." In truth, she had fond memories of that cabin in the snow. "If you chopped wood for me again."

He rolled off of her, and then tugged her close again. "I will keep that in mind for my vacation planning." He sighed. "After we get Doc back."

Nat sighed as well, feeling a sharp pain for Amanda. "Yes." She tucked close to rest her chin on his shoulder. "I hope they're treating her well. She's stubborn enough she'd let them torture her just on principle."

"So would you," he said. It didn't sound like an accusation. So would he.

"If she had training like mine - or yours - she'd be terrifying." Nat pressed a kiss to his skin, tasting salt, and took a deep breath of his scent. "I'm sure she'll be all right."

"I do not envy her captors when Barnes gets ahold of them," he said.

"Yes," she agreed. "That's going to be a very interesting day."

"We probably should call downstairs and see if we can be of any use."

Yes, it was probably past time to start their day. She nodded and kissed him, shifting to the edge of the bed. "I might need another shower."

He chuckled. "So, I think, could I."

She inclined her head. "Come on. I promise to behave."


	6. Chapter 6

_Washington DC, 2013_

Like any government agency that armed its employees, SHIELD did regular range qualifications for anyone who carried a side arm. Because the distances on an indoor range were laughable to someone like Clint, years ago he'd taken to making entertainment out of this silly requirement he couldn't get out of. He'd done it blindfolded, he'd shot over his shoulder, he'd shot with a variety of unreliable vintage guns. Nat had once dared him to try spinning around; he still wasn't so much as a millimeter off. For a while now, his range test had acquired a crowd of onlookers. He knew some betting went on, though he didn't want to know who was betting against him.

Clint had no idea how big a deal this particular event had become until this year, when he found himself not in the mood for theatrics. Nat was on a solo assignment that required all manipulation and no shooting, and he wasn't sleeping well. He simply fired his six shots center mass on the target, using the SHIELD issued Glock he hated and never actually used in the field. The audience was disappointed, and that afternoon Clint found himself called into Director Fury's office.

"Please tell me this isn't about the range test," he said as he sunk into one of the chairs opposite his desk.

Fury studied him, like he was looking for something he'd missed. "Romanov told me you were all right. I tend to trust her. But people are concerned."

Clint sighed at glanced up at the ceiling. "I'm fine."

"Actions speak louder than words, Barton. You aren't acting like you're fine."

"It's been a year," he said.

"Almost exactly," Fury replied, which was something Clint actually hadn't realized. They were coming up on the anniversary, weren't they. That did explain why he had starting seeing clips about the Battle of New York on TV lately. He just changed the channel quickly. "Took Stark six months to crack. Someone as well trained as yourself might take longer."

Funny that Fury didn't know about him beating the snot out of that dictator in a misplaced rage, just about the same time of year Stark was also losing his ability to bottle it up. Nat had done a good job fudging her report, apparently. "I'm not cracking. I'm just not in the mood for putting on a show. You want me to talk to psych?"

"I want you to take a couple days off."

While Nat was out of town. Fun. "I don't need a couple days off."

"I don't care what you want. I said I wanted it. Go sit on your couch and eat pizza. Go out in the mountains and shoot rabbits. I don't care. Just take a break."

Clint stifled another sigh. "Yes, sir. Anything else?"

"That'll be it. Come back a week from Monday. At the earliest."

He stood up slowly. "We could have done this by email, you know."

"I like looking people in the eye," Fury said dryly. "I'm friendly that way."

It still felt like he was being punished when he got home. His apartment was really just somewhere to sleep, not somewhere to spend a week. Nat might be too deep undercover to answer him, but he texted her anyway. _Fury made me take a week off._

An hour later, after he had given up finding anything worth watching on TV and was seriously considering that wild man in the mountains thing, his phone buzzed. _Did you do something to deserve this? I'm fine, so I know you didn't steal any planes._

_I didn't do anything fun for my range test._

_Ah. You probably cost him money. Not in the mood?_

He contemplated lying, but he didn't feel like it. And he swore she'd be able to see right through the phone. _Tired. Not sleeping well._

There was a pause after that. He was used to her replies being spotty while on mission. _I got maybe two more days here, three at the outside. Then we can wreak some havoc together._

_I will try to survive the wait as best I can._ Having her home made his enforced vacation more appealing.

The yelling next door had started again. His neighbor had a boyfriend who was a jerk, and they tended to fight loudly. He texted Nat. _And now the evening show is at it again. This doesn't help the sleep._

_Neighbors again? What this time? Rented the wrong movie from Netflix?_

He listened for a minute. _Sounds like he didn't like the restaurant she wanted to go to._

_Poor woman. They make us look downright well adjusted._

The woman was yelling at her boyfriend to get out, a move Clint heartily approved of. The boyfriend responded with more yelling. Then there was the sound of glass breaking. Clint put his phone down and frowned at the wall.

There was utter silence for a few moments, then a door slammed hard enough to shake the walls. After that, Clint swore he heard a woman crying. He sighed, debating with himself. She could be hurt. 

He got up and went next door, knocking lightly. "It's your neighbor. You all right in there?"

No response. Then footsteps and she replied, "I'm fine, thank you." That was totally the voice of someone who had been crying.

"Just wanted to check. Got thrown through a plate glass window once. Shards go flying, bleeds more than you think."

There was a little noise, almost like a hiccup. "I can. . . I can handle it."

"Yeah," he said. "Well, if you need anything, just bang on the wall." He paused. "Not being creepy, I just work in law enforcement." In a manner of speaking.

"All right," she said, quieter. Then repeated, "Thank you."

"Anytime," he said, then added. "My name's Clint."

"Zoe," she told him.

"Nice to meet you," he said. "Put your deadbolt on."

She didn't reply, but he heard it thunk into place. Well, that was something. He went back to his apartment. _Met the neighbor,_ he told Nat. _Boyfriend may be a problem._

_Trip to the Pine Barrens problem?_ There were all manner of ways to dispose of a body. Nat was a bit of a traditionalist.

_We'll see if he comes back._

The guy came back. The next night, just as Clint was trying to drift into his usual fitful sleep, he could hear banging on the door next door.

"Zoe! Open this goddamned door right now."

Clint was kind of proud of her when she responded. "No! Go away, you're drunk."

Jackass's tone changed. "C'mon, honey. I just wanted to apologize. I brought you something."

If she let him in, the cops were going to be at this building tonight. Clint really hated dealing with Metro PD. So he got up, threw on sweats, and went out into the hallway.

The smell of cigarettes and cheap booze hung around the guy like miasma. He glanced back when Clint's door opened. "The fuck you looking at?"

The guy was bigger than him. Which sucked, because that meant there was more likely to be a physical altercation. If he had any actual training or experience, he'd be able to read Clint's ability to handle himself, or at the very least his significant upper body strength given he had only a t-shirt on. But your general idiot tended to over value height, and to vastly overvalue weight that was composed mostly of fat. "You're disturbing my sleep," he replied.

He didn't take his eyes off Clint, but he banged on the door again. "Come on, Zo, we're pissing off your neighbors."

"She doesn't want to let you in," Clint said. "I think you should leave her alone."

"This is none of your business, man. Go back in, we'll be done in a minute."

The guy pulled himself up, like he was trying to be intimidating. It was cute. "Yeah. You will. Because you're leaving."

"Troy, just go." Zoe's voice came through the door. "He's like a cop or something."

"Can I see your badge?" Troy asked belligerently. 

"Nope," Clint replied, staring the guy down.

He seemed to weigh his chances. Apparently even the chance of law enforcement was enough to give him pause. Finally he gave the neighbor's door one more bang. "I'll see you tomorrow, Zo," he said, then started down the hall, holding Clint's gaze the whole time.

When he was gone, Clint called, "You should look into a restraining order," through the door.

The door opened a few inches. Zoe was petite, but probably a little taller than Nat, with dark hair and an olive complexion that made pinning down ethnicity almost impossible. She had a hell of a bruise on her cheek. "You ever see one of those work?" she asked him.

"Not really," he said honestly. "But it does make him easier to arrest. Sometimes a little time in jail helps redirect people's priorities." Unless obsession set in, and then the only answer probably was to kill the guy.

She shrugged. "I'll think about it. Thanks for tonight. Sorry for waking you up." She hesitated. "You wanna come in for a beer or something?"

"I was just going to sleep," he said. "But thanks. Maybe some other time."

"All right. Sweet dreams," she said before closing the door. He waited to hear the dead bolt thunk before going back inside.

He texted Nat. _The boyfriend was on 'drunk door banging' tonight._

To his surprise there was an almost immediate response. _I'm waiting on my evac now. Maybe if he comes back tomorrow night a tiny little red head can break his nose._

Clint grinned. _That would certainly learn him._

_Nothing abusers hate more than a girl who fights back. I'll come to your place once I land and debrief._

_I can't wait to see you_

_Missions feel much longer without you._

_It's probably the lack of sex._

_You know, I think that's it._ Before he could respond another text came in. _My ride is here. See you soon_ This followed by a winking smilie and a kissing smilie.

*

Clint's apartment was in a crappier part of town than hers. He insisted it was because he was never there and didn't want to waste the money. She mocked him for being cheap, because she knew how well SHIELD paid. 

When she hit the button he buzzed her up without asking who it was, because he had a hidden camera on the door. His door was unlocked, which she assumed he'd left for her. Though he wasn't exactly a guy who needed the protection of a lock.

He was sitting on the couch, feet on his coffee table, watching TV. There was a beer and a glass of vodka sitting on the end table. He lifted a hand in greeting when she closed the door behind her.

She dumped her bag by the door and beelined to the couch, putting a knee by his hip to lean down and kiss him. "Honey. I'm home."

He pulled her into his lap and sank his hand into her hair as they kissed. "Hi."

For a moment, she let herself get lost in the kiss and the scent of him. "I missed you," she murmured.

His hands were under her shirt now. "I missed you."

She lifted her arms so he could tug it off, smiling at the feel of his calluses on her skin. "I fully intend to ignore my phone for at least the next two days."

"I have nowhere to be," he said, unhooking her bra. He bent his head to kiss her breasts. "Except right here."

"I like you right here," she told him, stroking her hands through his hair. 

He unzipped her pants. "Take these off, I want you naked."

She climbed off his lap and wiggled her jeans down, toeing her shoes off in the process. Her underwear went with the denim and she climbed back in his lap completely naked. She loved how he grinned at her, sliding his hands over her skin. "Better."

When she tugged at his shirt he obediently released her so she could remove it. "Are there no elevens in porn?" she teased him, leaning down to kiss him tenderly.

He held her face in his hands. "There's only you." She felt, somehow, that he meant more than one thing with that. Not the time to pursue that, though. So she deepened the kiss and rocked against him deliberately, feeling him twitch through his sweats.

The sound of banging came through the wall. "God damn it, Zoe, open this door!"

Clint sighed heavily and Nat lifted her head and looked towards the door. "Is that the boy friend?"

"Yes," he growled, reaching for his shirt. "Troy."

"I will break this door down!" Troy was shouting. 

A moment later there was frantic pounding on Clint's living room wall, prompting him to call, "Coming!" in its general direction.

Taking her cue from him, Nat yanked her shirt and pants on and followed him as he went to open his front door.

Troy was about a foot taller than her, with the build of a slowly aging high school football player who was losing his battle with his metabolism. He'd probably been in a locker room tussle or three, but his nose had never been broken, so nothing really serious. He probably thought he was a fighter, though. He glanced at Nat and gave her an appreciative look that had just a touch of creepy. Then he looked at Clint. "You again."

"I thought we had a conversation about this," Clint said.

"It's none of your damn business, bro. I just want to talk to my damned girlfriend."

"She's not your girlfriend anymore, I think she made that pretty clear."

"That's none of your-"

"Hey, Zoe?" Nat yelled over him. "I'm Nat, Clint's girlfriend."

There was a pause, then, "Hi," through her door.

Nat grinned. "Can you just confirm that you're done with this guy and will not be opening the door tonight or any other night?"

"I will not, and I wish he'd go away."

"Excellent. Now for you. Troy, is it? Zoe's made her feelings pretty clear, I think you should go."

"Aw, sweetheart, aren't you cute?" Troy slurred. Clint snorted a laugh behind her.

"I'm adorable," she agreed readily. "I'm also going to give you a concussion if you don't move your ass out of here."

"If I'm not taking orders from him, I ain't taking orders from you."

She shrugged, rolling her shoulders, then her head from side to side. "Okay. When you regain consciousness try to remember I gave you the chance to walk away." She looked up at Clint. "May I?"

"Watching you work is practically foreplay," he replied.

Despite herself, she felt heat spread in her at his words. "I'll try to make this quick then." She turned back to Troy and eyed the distance between them. No bra, no toys. This would be fun.

She sprinted forward, halving the distance between them, then put a foot on one wall, bouncing to the other to get some height. When she reached him she was close enough to catch him around the neck with a leg and slam him back into the wall behind him. She heard the satisfying crack of a rib or two breaking, and Troy gasped in surprise and pain.

"If I wanted to, I could snap your neck right now," she told him conversationally. She swung her leg over, sitting on his shoulders, before digging her knee into the side of his neck, cutting off the flow of blood to his head. He staggered, scratching at her to try to get her off him.

Lack of blood eventually brought him to his knees and she hopped off, letting him get a deep breath. Then she turned gracefully and spun, round house kicking him in the face. He crumpled to the ground, out cold.

"He didn't even put up a fight," Clint said, sounding disappointed.

"Element of surprise plus lack of real skill," she said, shaking her head. Hadn't even really been a challenge. "Now I'm all wound up. Do we know anyone else who deserves a beating?"

"No, but once I drag his ass down to the dumpsters, I'm sure we can find some way to burn your excess energy."

She grinned at him as the door behind her creaked open. "Zoe, I presume?" she asked the woman who peeked out.  "Yes." She looked down at where Clint was starting to haul Troy away. "You really did knock him out."

"It's what I do."

She blinked. "You beat up people for a living?"

Behind her, she head Clint stop in his unconscious asshole dragging. "I'm a competitive fighter," Nat said brightly, making a point not to look back at Clint in case the look on his face made her laugh.

"Bet you don't get hassled by ghosts your poor judgement," Zoe said, as Clint heaved Troy into a fireman's carry to get him downstairs.

"No, most of mine are too far back in the past to track me down," she said, deciding that her persona had some rough boyfriends as a teen, which had gotten her into martial arts in the first place. "I've been with Clint a long time."

"I can see that about him," she said. "He's a nice guy."

Nat smiled widely. "He is. He's good for me."

"I can tell he's not here much. That must be hard."

That hit a little close to home. "I travel a lot, too. We make it work." She heard Clint's tread on the steps. "I'm actually just back from a trip."

"Ah." Zoe cleared her throat. "Sorry to interrupt."

"No worries. Happy to help." She started backing down the hall to Clint's door. "Have a good night."

"You too," she said with a smile. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome. Hope your ghosts stay away."

"Me too," she said, and then she shut her door. Nat heard the deadbolt slide into place.

Clint was waiting for her in his doorway. "I've done good work here today."

"My hope is he'll take a beating given by a woman more seriously than one that came from me," he replied.

"It's usually more memorable, at any rate."

He closed the door, and then he pushed her up against it. "That was hot."

She grinned, tugging him down for a kiss. "I'm always hot."

He yanked her shirt up over her head. "That too."

 Grateful she hadn't bothered with underthings, she shimmied out of her pants again before wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him roughly. He hooked his arms under her thighs and lifted her up against the door. Apparently it really did turn him on to watch her fight. She could feel his cock, hard and urgent and straining against his sweats.

Using one hand and her heels, she managed to tug his pants down enough the free him so he could thrust inside her. She gasped with the force of it. It was fast and rough, like sex after a mission.

She hung on with arms and legs as he pounded into her, screaming when she came. After he followed, he sagged against her, resting his forehead against the door. "Yeah," he breathed. "I missed you."

"Yes," she panted, rubbing his back. "I see that."

He took a breath, and then straightened, lifting her and carrying her back to the bedroom. He dropped them down on the unmade bed and got the blankets up around them. "Welcome home," he murmured. It was almost a mumble, really, and she could hear the sleep in his voice. He was always exhausted when she got home. She hoped he'd start sleeping better eventually, but for now she was happy to have him curl around her and relax.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter covers event that take place in Chapter 3 and 5 of _Welcome the the New Age_.

_New York, 2016_

Clint generally didn't mind waiting. His job often required a tremendous amount of patience, of sitting or laying around, waiting for a target. But the wait while they searched for Amanda felt interminable. Maybe because he had nowhere to point his scope yet.

Nat had started taking shifts helping Rogers make sure Barnes remembered to eat and shower. Clint walked his dog a few times, but tended to spend his days in the control room with Maria Hill and the other techs, trying to track down where Hydra might have taken their doctor. Currently, they were tracing purchases on the kind of machines Amanda would need to do her work, trying to find a facility that had ordered several recently.

So he was standing right next to Hill when her phone buzzed with a text from a strange number that claimed to be Amanda.

They were already working on the general location when Rogers practically crashed through the door—he'd gotten the text, too. It was a bit before someone realized that Barnes still hadn't shown up, though he'd also gotten it, and Hill went upstairs to tell him to answer his damn phone. Clint texted Nat that they'd found her.

An exact location would be impossible to pin down due to scramblers Hydra had in place. They would need to wait until whoever owned the phone got out of range. They had enough information to know she was near Lynchburg, so Hill sent in a recon team to the general area to wait for more information.

The next afternoon they had their mission briefing. Hill had apparently decided it was time to send a message and everyone - including Thor, Banner, Rhodes and Wilson - were coming along for the ride. There wasn't going to be anything left of the non-descript looking office building when they were done with it. It was a plan Clint approved of.

All of the Avengers had space in the armory for their gear. Some of them had more space than others; Stark's suits took up half the room, Thor had literally just a coat hook. Clint and Barnes shared the second largest allocation of space, a massive wall of rifles and Clint's bows and racks of custom ammo and arrowheads. Hill and Rogers had convinced everyone else to standardize to make ammo supplies in their field easier and more efficient. Snipers had their own rules.

Clint was down there studying his options for the upcoming mission when Barnes came down to apparently do the same. When the other man came to stand beside him, Clint said, "You should try and get some sleep tonight."

Barnes stared at his rifles. "I don't sleep well when she's not here. Even when she's not a prisoner of pseudo-Nazis."

"Yeah," Clint said. "I hear that."

He looked over at Clint before reaching out to take one of his guns down and inspect it. "You too?"

"To this day. It's much better than it was years ago. But I'm still restless when she's away."

Barnes nodded, decided his gun was insufficient and put it back, going to the next one. "I wish I was going in with you guys." Barnes would be playing lookout and comms for the mission. He still had certain trigger phrases that could shut him down. Letting him inside a Hydra facility was bad news.

"We'll keep her safe, I promise."

"I know. I trust you all." This gun appeared to pass muster. "Part of me wants to being my old was rifle. For luck. Scopes on these are better, though."

"With the caveat that I have apparently inhuman visual acuity, so can afford to not be picky about scopes, I often like comfort over tech." He gestured at his bows. "And there's something to be said for muscle memory when sleep deprived and stressed."

"That's a good point. Though I haven't used that one in combat in seventy years." He glanced over at Clint with a little half smile, probably the first he'd cracked all week. "No harm in bringing both, right?"

"Lucky charms don't need to be functional."

"A rabbit's foot would be more convenient, but what can you do?" He sighed and brought his gun over the the table they had set up to give it a thorough once over. "I just keep telling myself that this time tomorrow she'll be home."

"You won't feel better until she is. Until you actually touch her."

Barnes nodded, like he's already known that was true. "Promise to shoot a few of them in the head for me."

"It would be my honor."

Wheels went up at oh-eight hundred the next morning. Clint had the main team in his jet, Rhodes was flying another. The recon team had been doing sweeps in a cloaked jet, trying to get a visual on Amanda before they arrived. They reported her in an office on the eastern end of the building. The teams separated after landing, Clint and Barnes heading to the roof of an unused warehouse that had a good view of the east end of the building. Had she been in a different area they would have had to do some serious improvising. He decided to take that bit of luck as a good omen.

 Once the other teams were in place and Barnes had his rifle set up Clint sent an explosive arrow at the window of Amanda's office. With the window blown he followed it immediately with a second arrow, this with an earpiece on it.

He was watching Barnes and knew the instant Amanda got the piece in and made contact. The other man looked like he'd had a hit of heroin. "Hey, 'Manda," he said in a voice rough with repressed emotion. He gave Clint a nod to let him know it was okay to meet up with the others for infiltration.

Barnes seemed to like being touched about as much as Nat, but he reached over and clapped him on the shoulder just the same, before getting up.

He met up with Nat and Rogers at the west entrance where they'd already knocked out the security and set up a C4 charge on the doors. They could have used the guard's keys to get in, but a small explosion made a nice statement.

Amanda's earpiece was patched through, just in time to hear her reporting she was on her way to the stairs and had apparently gotten herself a weapon—but killing one of Hydra agents with the arrow he'd put in the wall. 

He exchanged an impressed look with Nat, who proceeded to compliment the Doc on her badassery. They headed for the south stairs to intercept her. A couple floors up the whole building shuddered, causing all three of them to grab for the stair rail. Doc's dry voice came though the ear piece, “Could you refrain from knocking it down until I’m out of it?” 

Stark told them the Hulk was getting impatient, which was probably a sign they should hurry their asses up.

"Stealth is not the order of the day," he commented.

"Well, we have Thor, Stark, _and_ Hulk involved," Nat said.

Over the comm, they heard a gun shot and Amanda cry out. Barnes sounded near panic when he said her name, but her voice when she responded was the calm flat tone of quiet fury.

She had come across the man who'd kidnapped her. 

The rest of them on the line listened as she cracked a joke about employee retention policies and the speech she wasn't going to make about the consequences of harming Avengers' loved ones. Then she rather calmly shot him. Clint liked to imagine it was a clean between-the-eyes, but he didn't know if her aim was that good. Otherwise his assessment of her, and what she was capable of, had been spot on.

"I'm at the stairs," she said over the comm.

A door a couple of floors up opened. Clint drew his bow, but when they turned the next bend in the stairs he saw it was the Doc. Rogers sprinted up the last flight. "Amanda."

Her face crumpled and she limped the last couple steps to wrap her arms around him. "Hi, Steve," she whispered.

"Bucky, I got her," Rogers said for the sake of the comm, shifting to scoop her up.

"Thank you," he said, relief evident in his voice.

"I can walk," she was protesting.

"I can walk faster," Rogers replied. "We're bringing her down. Send Rhodes to the field."

Slowly they made their way back out. Amanda still seemed to be processing things. "I can't believe you brought everyone."

"You don't mess with one of ours," Rogers replied.

"Us," Clint said as they reached the exterior doors.

"What?" Nat asked.

He leaned his bow around the blow-out opening where the exterior doors once were. "He said one of ours." A Hydra guy came around the corner of the building with a gun and Clint picked him off. "She took out bad guys with scissors and an arrowhead, helped us find her, shot her captor in the face, and managed to be witty while doing it." He glanced back over his shoulder. "You're not one of ours, Doc, you're one of _us_. Clear for the jet on my end," he added over the comm. "Barnes?"

"They're on their way. ETA two minutes."

Amanda was still grumbling, so Rogers put her down, but braced an arm around her waist. She cast a smiled at Clint. "Thank you," she said sincerely.

He smiled at her, and Nat piped up, "He was really impressed by the scissors thing."

"Femoral and carotid arteries. It's practically my signature move. Hey, do I get an outfit?"

"Maybe your new brother-in-law will design you one," Stark said over the comm, even though he was clearly in the middle of a fight. "Do you see what I'm wearing? And you're shooting at me with _that_?" Though apparently not a serious fight.

"I could use a new lab coat." The wind kicked up and her ride appeared over the other side of the warehouse, coming to land near them. Doc insisted on hobbling up the ramp on her own power.

The gate closed and the jet lifted up. "Bucky, she's on the plane," Rogers said.

Before he could reply, Stark said, "Good. Let's level this shithole." 

Hulk's roar echoed across the field and Nat grinned. "Time to go to work."

*

The Wives Club descended on Amanda the next day with lunch. The non combatants kept up most of the chatter, asking her about the attack and telling stories of what she'd missed. Nat sat back and watched the other woman, noticing Maria did the same. When they'd finished and left her to rest Jane and Darcy headed back to work, Pepper headed up to her pregnant lady chair in the penthouse and Nat found herself standing outside her door with Maria.

"Do you think she's okay?" Hill asked.

Nat shook her head. "She's processing. No way to be sure how she'll handle it."

Hill glanced back at Doc's door. "Did she really shoot a guy in the face?"

"Right between the eyes," Nat confirmed, tapping her forehead. She'd made a point to peek through the door that Amanda had come through before following Steve and Clint back down. "Point blank."

"That's not an easy thing for a civilian. Though I heard Barton gave her a field promotion."

She lifted a shoulder. "He made a good point. She is our medic. Fury used to say Coulson was an Avenger as much as any of us were."

Hill seemed to accept that. "Well. Let's keep an eye on her. Like we would any rookie agent."

Smiling at the reaction Amanda would have at being called a rookie anything, Nat said her goodbyes and headed into her apartment. Clint was out, possibly finding his own lunch or something. London looked up from her perch at the top of her cat tree but didn't come down to visit.

Feeling oddly at loose ends Nat checked the TV for something worth watching and ended up on the Food Network. Which convinced her she absolutely needed to make strawberry shortcake.

She was just finishing it when Clint got home. "I'm really glad you picked up this instead of knitting," he commented.

"Knives are more efficient than needles."

He stole a strawberry. "How was your lunch?"

"Good. Hill and I are a little worried about Amanda. Have to see how she handles the next couple weeks."

"She strikes me as a bit of a bottler," he replied. He reached for another strawberry and she smacked his hand.

"When Darcy asked her about it she mostly skimmed. I could tell it's not sitting right." She looked over at him. "Do you think it goes hand in hand. Having the stomach to kill and being able to deal with it?"

"I tend to think so, but I may be biased. In any case, being able to handle killing and being able to handle being kidnapped are clearly two different things. Something I learned the hard way."

That was true. It might not be the man in the hallway that was bothering her. "I suppose she has a lot of us watching out for her. If she needs it." She put the last dollop of whipped cream on the dessert and slid it over to him.

He took it to the table. "Killing somebody is a decision. An action you take. Even if it results in guilt and regret, I think we process that better than something that was. . . violating."

"Stark had Pepper bring her a hamburger. I think he's feeling some flash backs with this whole thing." She built her own pile of shortbread, strawberries and whipped cream and joined him at the table. "I suppose it hit all of us in one way or another."

"Certainly brings back memories," he said with a sigh.

She paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," he said. "Honestly. How about you?"

"Good," she told him, meaning it. "I'm glad she's back. I hope she deals with it instead of bottling it up." She licked whipped cream off her spoon. "I admit I was feeling some. . . sympathy pains for Bucky when she was gone. But it ended as well as it could have and I'm glad of it."

He reached across the table and touched her hand. "I know it was hard on you."

She smiled, turning her hand over to hold his. "It was. I was thinking, when you told Amanda she was an Avenger, that I was glad my loved one was strong enough to defend himself. And right after that, I remembered that didn't guarantee anything." She shook her head sharply. "Sorry, I guess I am still dealing with the deja vu a bit."

"Maybe it doesn't. But it did take monsters and magic. You couldn't take either of us with the sort of team they sent for Doc." He paused. "Hill ever tell you about the Hydra notes on us?"

Hill had spent a great deal of time going through the info dump Nat had sent out. She'd shared a few choice pages when they were still hiding out in the dam, but nothing that stood out. "I don't think so, no."

"Their SOP was to approach potential recruits, and then kill them if they said no. They felt they couldn't get one of us without the other, and that if they approached us both together, we would be impossible to kill."

Nat laughed a little. "That does explain a few things. I always wondered why they didn't approach either of us. From a distance we're both excellent candidates."

"I'm just saying. There's something in that."

"It is nice to know we are, in some way, incorruptible." She leaned over the table and kissed him. "What do you think of the shortcake?"

"You are an excellent cook," he replied.

She grinned. "Thank you, honey."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Events in this chapter also occur in chapters 7 and 9 of _Welcome to the New Age_.

In the weeks to come it became obvious that Amanda was not handling her trauma as well as she could. PTSD had made her a prisoner in the Tower, to the point she'd had a panic attack when Bucky tried to take her out to dinner. The rest of them had banded together to help her through it, and a month later she was stable enough to fly to Maryland for a meeting at the FDA to get permission to move forward with her serum testing.

Nat volunteered to play bodyguard almost before Bucky had asked. Never one to miss an opportunity to snipe from a rooftop, Clint had agreed to come too and together they got there early to clear the location.

"Not a bad location to defend," he commented as he took forever to choose a nest. 

"Wide open spaces are nice." Doc and the others would be using a parking lot flanked by open fields. 

"Can't find a perch without a blind spot though. I hate that."

She sympathized. "Well, do your best, I guess. We may be overthinking this whole thing, anyway."

"Probably," he acknowledged. "But I like doing my job well even when it's overkill."

He made an excellent point. She scanned the lot from her vantage point. "Well, I have a good view of the South/Southwest. Maybe focus on the rest of it?"

Clint squinted at the view, and then nodded. "That'll do."

She checked her watch. "They'll be driving in soon. Better get set up." He grinned and gave her a salute.

Steve checked in on the comms once they got within sight of the FDA campus. "Barton and I are in place," she told him. "Wilson's in the air doing perimeter sweeps. How's the Doc doing?"

"Nervous but stoic," he replied.

She did a check of the parking lot, which had nothing out of the ordinary save for two people having sex in the back of one of the cars. She assured Sam he hadn't missed anything of note as the SUV with Steve, Barnes and Doc in it pulled into the lot and parked. Barnes went over the plan for Doc's sake, then the driver's door opened and Steve climbed out, shield on one arm, and walked around the car to meet Barnes and Doc at the back door.

Nat could now see how nervous Amanda looked. Coming for this had been a big deal. Distraction might do her good. "Is Doc on the comm?"

Steve looked up, eyes narrowed. "No, is something wrong?"

Everyone really was tense. “Nah. I just wanted to know where she got her shoes.”

She could see Barnes smile and relay the message to Doc, who visibly relaxed a little. She'd once distracted Nat with bra talk while conducting a medical exam. It was good to know the same trick worked on her.  
 Doc stopped walking to lean in and say something in Barnes's ear. Before she got a word out a shot rang out, grazing her hair and hitting Steve square in the chest.

The sniper got off a second shot before Clint located him on a loading dock on the other side of the parking lot and picked him off. Wilson winged over to confirm he was down, but Nat was more concerned with the dust cloud coming in over the open field and the black SUV swinging into the lot entrance. 

"Guys, we got incoming." She called out the locations of the cars, sprinting from her spot by the buildings to get a better vantage point. Barnes had Doc behind decent cover, so she let them worry about each other, focusing on the new threat.

The dust cloud turned into another SUV and together they blocked the main lot entrances and opened their doors. Black clad operatives piled out and opened fire on the minivan Barnes and Doc were crouched behind.

She came out of join what was about to become a genuine fight. Steve was down—from the size of the blood pool he might be dead, but she put that in a different compartment of her mind for now. Thankfully the fight was at least straightforward. Clint kept a running count as enemies were taken out, peppered by rifle shots of his own. He was probably mad he hadn't brought his bow. They'd really thought this all would be for show.

They worked pretty well together, though they were a pretty haphazard team. Doc even took one down with a repulser borrowed from Stark. Nat was kind of impressed, Stark never leant those out.

Clint called out an all clear and she doubled checked the Hydra vehicles just in case. The instant she called her all clear Doc was sprinting for Steve's prone body. A moment later she jumped up, and Nat watched her successfully identify the car in the lot most likely to have a first-aid kit, smash the window, and pull it out. Nat took off at a run, and reached Steve just as Doc got back.

Gauze from the first aid kit was quickly packed into the exit wounds as she assessed him. The bullets had gone through at high velocity, too fast for them to splinter or fragment, leaving clean through and throughs. Nat knew just enough about sniping from Clint to know that meant the shooter had been too close, as Barnes explained it.

Doc looked up at her. "Do you know mouth-to-mouth?" She nodded, and dropped to her knees by Steve's head before she had a change to give further orders. She started CPR as Clint's voice over the comm said, "Bus, fire and five cop cars on their way up the road. I’m on my way down."

Wilson arrived in time to call into the Tower and pass on orders from Doc for her team. Nat kept breathing for Steve as sirens split the air. She didn't stop until EMTs joined them and took over for her. Then she got to her feet and plastered her PR smile on to greet the cops who had also arrived.

The cop's eyes drifted over her shoulder at the ambulance. "Is that Captain America?"

She resisted glancing back herself. "He got a bit banged up in the fight. Our medic has it under control."

Clint came past, pausing to kiss her temple and completely ignoring the cop. "Doc needs stuff from back home. Going to break the sound barrier and some laws." He gave the cop a look that made the man gulp, and then stalked off.

Wilson and Barnes stayed with her as she talked to the cops, giving them the whole run down. Representatives from the FDA came out and she gave them the short version and made sure whoever Amanda was supposed to meet with knew why she hadn't made it. When everyone seemed happy, the bodies had been carted off and the crime scene cleaners were arriving she talked one of the cops into driving them to the hospital Steve and Amanda had been taken to.

The front of the hospital was already swarmed with paparazzi. Just wonderful. The car ride had given Barnes long enough to actually start thinking about what had happened, and they had to herd him inside as he seemed like he might punch one of the cameras.

They were shown to a waiting room which, to their surprise, contained Stark in an Iron Man suit. "God, you people are slow," he said.

"I was doing PR," Nat said. "You're welcome. What are you doing here? Do you know how he is?"

"They're in surgery. Wilson called and said they needed Doc's stash of Rogers's blood. I didn't want to wait for Barton to get back with the jet, so I flew it down. Pepper sends her love," he added.

"'Manda's in surgery with him?" Barnes sounded like he'd been gargling with gravel. Stark nodded and Barnes seemed to relax a bit, sinking into one of the waiting room chairs.

"Yep. So we're just waiting. I really hope the Annual Avengers Waiting Room Vigil does not become a thing."

God, Bucky being shot on mission had been just over a year ago. It felt like longer. Nat sank down into the seat next to him. "We underestimated their interest in her."

"They weren't trying to take her," he said. "They were trying to kill her."

"I know." The first bullet had grazed her hair. It would have been a clean headshot if she hadn't stopped to answer Nat teasing her. "We weren't prepared for that."

"I'd have come," Stark said. "If we'd thought it a real threat."

Barnes cleared his throat and rubbed his face. "I know. We didn't - it was just to make her feel safer. I don't think any of us really thought-" He shook his head. "Thanks for lending her the repulser."

He lifted a shoulder. "I offered her a whole suit."

Nat turned to look at him. "You _did_?"

He shrugged again, like this was no big deal. "Made me feel safe when I was sorting my shit out."

To the best of Nat's knowledge, Stark had never let anyone but Pepper and Rhodes use one of his suits. She shook her head. Stark never ceased to amaze her sometimes. "Well, it might have helped but I can see why she didn't want to attend her FDA meeting in one."

"They go over well with government officials."

"I don't know that it sends the 'I'm responsible enough to inject people with foreign substances' vibe she was going for."

"I will concede that."

For what felt like ages, they waited. Eventually Amanda's assistants, Tiffani and Pooja showed up, with Maria Hill. "Barton put down on the hospital's helicopter pad," Hill said before Nat could ask. "He went to park the jet elsewhere and then will be here."

She nodded, watching nurses usher the other women back to the operating room. She hadn't really thought about how much she was missing Clint until Hill had said something. Now every minute it took him to get there felt like hours.

It probably wasn't more than 15 minutes, in reality. She managed to resist the urge to throw herself at him when he appeared in the doorway. She did wrap herself around his arm when he sat next to her and rested her head on his shoulder. "Did you break the sound barrier?"

He kissed the top of her head. "Didn't you hear the boom?"

"I might have been busy. There were people to schmooze and men to herd."

"Any news?"

She shook her head. "In surgery. The nurses brought Tiffani and Pooja back as soon as they got here. Nothing to do but wait.

*

Rogers didn't wake up. He was moved back to the Tower in a coma. Barnes camped out at his bedside, and everyone else went to work. It didn't take them that long to find the people responsible. Their locations, anyway. Now they had to plan a major op—without their chief tactician. Clint spent the entire meeting wondering if some combination of Barnes, Stark, and Hill would end up in a fist fight.

Orders were to hold off for now, which didn't seem to sit well with anyone. Clint watched Barnes head back down to the infirmary with Doc, the intel folder clamped in his hand. He was only a little surprised when there was a knock on his door a little over an hour later.

Nat moved to get up from the couch but he waved her off and stood himself, sending the cat scampering off. He went to the door, and sure enough, there was Barnes on the other side.

"Come hunting with me?"

Clint felt himself smile, just a little. "Let me pack a bag." Barnes nodded and went to his apartment, so Clint closed the door and dug in the front closet for one of their go bags.

"Hunting?" Nat asked with a hiked brow.

"If I'd known where he was after he shot you, I wouldn't have waited for SHIELD."

"I hope the irony that you are now going hunting _with_ him is not lost on you."

"He's my friend." He set the bag on the table and rummaged through it. He'd need to go downstairs for weapons. "His ‘you’ is two people. They kidnapped one and may have killed the other." 

"I wasn't going to talk you out of it." She stood and glanced in the bag. "I'll pack you boys some snacks."

"This is why I love you."

"I knew there was a reason." She went to the kitchen and packed a few ziplocs with baked goods, trail mix and beef jerky. By the time she was done Clint had packed a small suitcase with clothes and toiletries and set it next to the go bag.

"Be careful," Nat told him, tucking the snacks into his bag. "Tell Barnes I'll keep an eye on Amanda for him."

He tipped her chin up to kiss her. "I love you more than anything, for a whole lot of reasons."

She smiled and stroked his cheek. "I love you back. It feels wrong to say have fun. But I do hope you have a good time."

"Keep the home fires burning and all." He gave her one more kiss, and then he went next door.

Barnes was waiting by the elevator, a very stuffed duffle bag by his foot. "Armory?" he said when Clint reached him.

"I figure Stark won't mind us taking a few things."

He packed his two favorite bows, and what seemed like half the arrows and arrowheads. Barnes raised an eyebrow, and he said, "Guns are great for anonymity. I want them to _know_ who shot them."

"You make a good point." Clint noticed Barnes had brought out his old war rifle, as well as the two modern ones he grabbed from the armory. Plus about half the ammo they had. "I requisitioned an SUV. One of the ones with serious tint on the windows. Should be waiting for us in the basement." He zipped up his bag decisively. "Start with the guy in Vermont and go from there?"

They were in the car before Clint asked, "Have you done this? Since you were yourself again?"

"Shot people?" He lifted a shoulder. "I attempted to hunt some Hydra people down before Steve found me. After the helicarriers and everything. When I was trying to get my memories back. Other than that it's just been mission stuff." 

"Just curious. This is certainly a good cause."

"Yeah," he said softly. He had his phone out, fidgeting it in his hands. "I should probably tell Amanda we're going."

"She going to be angry?"

"I hope not. I think she knew I was headed this way. She just suggested I not go alone."

"I wondered if this would be inevitable. I hoped it wouldn't, but. . ." he shrugged.

Barnes's jaw twitched. "I could handle them wanting to kidnap her. I wanted to prevent it, obviously, but it's motivation I understand. But that shot. . . that was aimed at her head. If she hadn't stopped walking she'd be dead and I never would have seen it coming. I can't let that lie. She can't live looking over her shoulder."

"Yeah." They emerged from the Lincoln tunnel and got on 95 north. "You ever hear Nat's story about my neighbor's abusive boyfriend?"

"Couple times, yeah. She likes that one."

"Seemed a great idea, teach him a lesson by having a girl kick his ass."

"Bully like that. . . getting humiliated usually works."

"Obsession, as it turns out, is stronger. Showed up a month later, kicked her door in. Put her in the hospital. The only reason it wasn't worse is she screamed loud enough one of the other neighbors called the cops."

Barnes let out a little whistle. "What happened to him?"

"Lead poisoning." He paused. "Well, the arrow was actually titanium and carbon fiber."

That got a little smile. "Good."

"He wasn't going to stop. It was just a matter of time before he killed her."

They were both quiet a moment, then Barnes picked up his phone and dialed Amanda to tell her they were out hunting.

"I'm sorry," he said at one point. “I just. . . need to do something.”

The rest of the conversation was pretty brief and didn't sound like he'd be sleeping on the couch when he got home. After I love yous he hung up and tucked the phone in his pocket. "She wishes us luck."

"Nat promised to look after her."

He nodded. "She'll be all right."

Clint was quiet a moment. "Will you?"

Silence stretched a moment. "When she was missing I told Steve I wasn't sure I'd be all right if we didn't find her. I feel the same way now. I'll get through it. I won't leave Amanda. But I don't know that I'll ever be quite the same." He paused. "I'm hoping this helps. Feel like I've done something. Rebalanced the scales. Natasha's big on that."

"You'd be surprised what you can survive," he said quietly. "Even if you're someone else on the other side."

"Ever wonder if there's a limit to how many times you can put yourself back together?"

"There might be," he said with a sigh. "But if you've got something to live for, it's worth trying."

"Well. I've never been much for giving up."

That made Clint smile. "Good."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the gap in posting. When I went to post this chapter I realized it revealed some major spoilers for _Welcome to the New Age_ that hadn't happened in that story yet, so I held it back a week. Shouldn't be a problem from here on out.
> 
> Oh, uh, references to first season Agents of SHIELD in this.

_August, 2013_

Being a spy for a publicly known, if shadowy, organization, Nat was used to vague, sometimes ominous mission information. Her latest email just said to be at the Hub, one of SHIELD's major bases, at a particular day and time. She'd be more worried if Clint hadn't gotten the same note.

If the Triskellion was the brains of SHIELD then the Hub was probably the heart. Agents and operatives went there for rest stops between jobs, to hang out and play pool while waiting for the next transport to Kiev, or Bogata or wherever you were headed. Nat had fleeced many a rookie who didn't realize the cute blonde holding the other pool cue was the Black Widow, still wearing the dye from her last mission.

"Think we're going somewhere fun?" he asked as they loitered in the cafeteria waiting for their meeting.

"Fun would be nice. Though most of the places I like to go are unlivable in August." She scraped the bottom of her bowl. "Would getting a second helping of bread pudding be wrong?"

"I will enjoy watching you eat it."

"Good enough for me." She set the bowl on the dish return and headed for the food line when the PA system came to life.

_Barton and Romanov, report to meeting room Tango 13 ASAP._

She glared at the ceiling as Clint joined her. "They even said it 'ay-sap' just to be extra annoying."

"I'll buy you some bread pudding after the meeting," he told her. She replied with a grumpy noise and followed him out of the cafeteria to the elevators. 

The meeting room was empty when they got there, not even any mission files on the conference table. Nat sank into one of the chairs. "Is this where they finally kill us for knowing too much?"

"Maybe we're finally getting the fraternization lecture." 

After all this time she rather doubted it was coming. Everyone knew they were a couple. Everyone. It might be part of the employee manual by now. She didn't know what they could possibly hope to accomplish by such a lecture. If they tried to fire one of them they'd lose both and that was just bad business. "If it is, I say we mess with them. Tell them I'm pregnant or we're secretly married for tax purposes or something."

"Isn't your lack of baby-making equipment in your file?"

"Yes. Think of how confused they'll be."

"You could start a new religion," came a dry, familiar, but utterly impossible voice from the doorway.

She turned, and sure enough, there was Phil Coulson standing at the head of the table. Looking very much not dead. From behind her, Clint said, "Is this a prank?"

Coulson spread his hands. "I'm afraid not. It's really me."

"You died," Nat said flatly. "They called it on the helicarrier. Fury-"

"I was dead for several minutes, then brought back. Fury kept it quiet. I'm told it was touch and go for a long time and he didn't want anyone getting their hopes up."

"Seriously," Clint said. "Is someone fucking with us?"

"I told Hill she should come in here and soften the blow," Coulson sighed. "But no. She thought the grand entrance would be better."

That. . . actually sounded quite a lot like Coulson, actually. Nat stood slowly and walked over to him. Lifting a hand, she poked him in the chest and was actually surprised to find warm flesh and blood. Not a hologram, anyway.

"I really am real," he said. "Fury was concerned about the reaction from the Avengers, given he chose to use my supposed death as a rallying point. Which, in his defense, I kind of told him to do. Though I thought I was genuinely dying at the time."

"Of course," Clint said, in the clipped, flat voice that meant he was really angry. She hadn't heard it like that in years. "He let me think I was responsible for getting you killed for a _year_ , because he didn't want to have an uncomfortable conversation with Stark. Or Rogers. Whatever."

She abandoned Coulson, whom she was fairly convinced really was Coulson, to go over and put a hand on Clint's arm, crouching by his chair. "Fury is an ass," she said quietly. "And I think we should have a very loud conversation with him soon. The important thing is you weren't responsible for it."

He sighed. "I don't want to go around about this again."

Squeezing his arm, she looked back at Coulson. "This was a really shitty way to break this news."

He sighed, looking tired. "Can you think of a good way?"

She glanced back at Clint. No, probably not. Once the lie was told they'd been stuck with it. It would have hurt a month after as much as a year. And Clint would have been far more volatile.

Straightening, she kissed his temple on the way up. "Maybe a candygram. Then we'd have chocolate to soften the blow."

Clint snorted a small laugh, which made her feel better.

"We're telling Captain Rogers this afternoon," Coulson said. "But I wanted you two to be first."

That was something, at least. "Is Fury replacing your vintage cards?"

Coulson smiled. "No. Sentimental, he's not." He sat in one of the chairs. "I'm sorry they lied to you for so long. My recovery took a long time, and then they sent me on a sabbatical of sorts. I've only been back at work a few weeks."

"Where'd they send you?" Clint asked.

"Tahiti."

"That sounds nicer than Boston," Nat commented.

"It's a magical place."

Something in the way he said that sounded odd. Like it was rehearsed. She glanced at Clint to see if he'd noticed it, too. His slightly raised brow indicated he might have. "So what are you going to be doing, now?" she asked, mentally filing that away for another time. "Recruitment? 0-8-4s?"

"Special Projects. They're giving me a team. And The Bus."

Goodness, look at the perks dying got you. They chatted about the people he was putting together for the team and their life back in DC. It was vaguely awkward, and far less familiar than they had once been with him. But she was still processing her relief at him being alive. And Lord knew Clint was probably reeling. The fact they kept up any sort of chatter was a miracle.

There was a pause in their conversation, and into the lull Clint said, "I'm sorry. About you getting stabbed."

Coulson looked at him, surprise flickering across his face. "Barton. . . that wasn't you. That was Loki. Start to finish. You don't need to carry that."

"I'm working on that," he said. "But it was still my hands, which I am sorry for. You were the one I never got to say that to."

For a moment, Coulson looked a bit overcome with emotion. He swallowed a couple times, then nodded. "Well. Apology accepted."

Clint swallowed, too. "I'm really glad you're not dead."

"So am I."

Since neither one of them was going to do it, Nat stood up, crossed the distance and hugged Coulson. It took a moment for his arms to come around her, but then he hugged her tight. "Glad you guys are okay, too," he told her.

"We're taking good care of each other," she whispered.

"As you should," he said. He pulled back. "You keep doing that."

"We have every intention," she assured him, stepping back to sink into her chair.

He was quiet a moment. "You think the candygram would go over well with Rogers?"

"I'd worry more about Stark," Nat said. "Steve rolls with things. His whole life is fucked up so what's one more thing?"

Coulson sighed heavily. "At the moment, my survival is still considered classified, and level 7."

"You're not telling Stark," Clint said. "Or the others? Seriously?"

"It's not my call," he said. "Having the fact that you're not dead be a state secret isn't exactly fun." He sighed. "There are people I care about a lot more than Stark that I'm not allowed to tell, either."

Nat wanted to hug him again. "The cellist?" He nodded shortly. "Phil. They ask too much of you."

"That's the job," he said, not quit making the casual tone he was clearly aiming for.

She frowned and wondered when she had managed to find a better balance of work and personal life than someone else. "You'll call us if you need help, right?"

"I will." He stood up, and looked at her for a moment. "Got any suggestions for convincing May to stop driving a desk?"

"Letting her drive the bus might do it," Clint offered.

"Handy, as that's my goal."

"Be careful," Nat told him. "And keep in touch."

"I will. I promise. Take care." 

Nat watched him go, waiting for the door to shut behind him with a gentle thunk. Then she looked at Clint. "So. Drinking?"

He sighed so deeply he seemed to deflate a little. "Sounds like a brilliant idea."

She waited for him to stand slowly and wrapped her arms around him tightly. He pressed her face into her hair, his arms nearly crushing her.

"It's okay," she murmured. "You're okay."

"I know," he mumbled into her hair. She didn't know what else to say, so she just rubbed his back, rocking him a little.

"We should stick around," he said eventually.

"Here?"

"I feel like Rogers is going to need a drink, too."

"That's a very good point. Except I don't think he can get drunk."

"All the more reason for him to want some company."

"Good point." She kissed his cheek, leaning back. "You want some bread pudding?"

He slid his arm around her. "No, but I'll buy you some."

"All right. I'll let you watch me eat it."

*

_December, 2016_

It was an eventful fall. Their hunt had done its job, which was good—when they got home, Amanda announced she was pregnant. Eventually, she figured out how to get Rogers out of his coma, much to everyone's relief. Stark and Pepper's baby was born, and despite some muttering in the press, they didn't even do the celebrity thing where they claimed to be engaged indefinitely. Having a baby did not require one to get married.

Barnes, having been born in 1917, did not think the same. Which would be why Clint was wearing a tuxedo on this particular afternoon.

He was in the side room of an old theatre, watching Rogers help Barnes with his tie. The wedding coordinator had given them a five minute warning before it was time to go stand in the front of 87 people and wait for the show to get on the road. Barnes, amusingly, looked kind of nervous.

"You know you only have one line," Rogers teased.

"Yeah, and you're just hoping I'll screw it up."

"That would be pretty funny."

There was a rap at the door and the coordinator poked her head in. "When you're ready, gentlemen."

Barnes took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, then let it out slowly. Clint made a mental note to tell Nat he was doing sniper breathing prior to his wedding. Then he nodded and the three of them filed out of the room into the hallway leading to the ballroom. They could hear the murmur of the crowd as they got closer.

His job was pretty much just to stand there. Though he had orders not to display what Nat called his Resting Serial Killer Face. He really couldn't help what his resting face looked like, but it was a wedding. People were taking pictures. He made an attempt to smile.

The music changed and the crowd shifted around to watch Amanda's sisters walk down the aisle. Clint spotted Nat's red hair, a few seats over from Pepper's red hair. The Tower crew was all seated together. She caught his eye and waved a little, then gave him a thumbs up. Maybe the smile was working.

A new song came on once the bridesmaids were in their spot, then Amanda appeared at the end of the aisle, holding her Dad's arm in what looked like a death grip. Clint knew shit about fashion - other than Nat's lingerie - but he had to admit that Doc cleaned up nice. Her dress even managed to downplay the rapidly growing baby bump she'd begun sporting.

Just as they got to the vows, literally before Barnes's one line, Ruby Stark started screaming. As Pepper tried to calm her down, Stark called out, "Hey, get used to it," up at Doc and Barnes, which made him laugh and the tension leave his shoulders.

The officiant pronounced them man and wife and Barnes reached for Amanda. Clint couldn't see his face, but a look of exasperated resignation crossed hers and she shrugged right before her new husband dipped and kissed her like it was Old Hollywood. The crowd went nuts cheering and Clint put two fingers in his mouth to wolf whistle properly.

He escorted one of her sisters down the aisle, and then they were stashed in some sort of side room before formal pictures could commence. He had a little time before he was needed, so he went in search of Nat out at the cocktail hour. He found her in a corner, standing still while Pepper was cleaning the shoulder of her dress with some sort of wipe. Stark was loitering nearby, having lost his suit coat and was holding his daughter, who was now clad in only a diaper. 

"When I make her suit, it's going to have a feature that sprays out poison or acid, just like that."

"Tony, don't help," Pepper was saying.

"Come on, that was impressive. It's was like the Exorcist."

Nat saw Clint coming towards them. "Don't come any closer, we're a splash zone."

"Well, she's probably empty now," Stark said.

"It's probably less gross than when you puked on me," Clint said.

"I thought we were never speaking of that," Stark replied, and Clint lifted a shoulder.

"I think that's all of it," Pepper said, inspecting Nat's dress. "I really am so sorry. You'll probably catch whiffs of it all night." That was the voice of experience right there.

Nat dug in her purse and pulled out a little spray bottle of perfume, which she spritzed her shoulder and back with. "It's fine. Every so often I need a good reminder of the bright side of being sterile." She paused and glanced at Pepper. "No offense."

"I'm happy to be a walking Public Service Announcement," she said with a sigh.

"Sorry." Nat looked over at Clint. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be having pictures taken?"

"They have couple pictures. I came to say hello." Beside him, the baby emitted a large burp and he quietly stepped a foot to the right.

Nat kissed his cheek. "You look very handsome in your tux."

He grinned at her. "Save me a dance later?"

"You may have several. Maybe I'll get the DJ to play a tango. Like the last wedding we went to."

Clint groaned, and Stark asked, "Did you really tango? Is there video?"

"You think I wouldn't hit a man holding a baby, but that's not true."

"It was on a job. The mark wouldn't get off the floor, so we improvised. He's very light on his feet," Nat added.

"I'm going to go get my picture taken now," he said.

She kissed his cheek again. "I'll see you at the reception."


	10. Chapter 10

Clint didn't want to comment on it, but when they got to the reception, he was glad that they weren't sitting at the same table as the baby. They were at what he supposed was the head table, with the bride and groom, both sisters and their husbands, and Rogers and his girlfriend.

Of all the strange things that had happened that fall, learning that Rogers was having some sort of clandestine affair with Agent 13, of all people, just amused the hell out of him.

She seemed nice enough, though she was right on the edge of what registered as "kid" to him. Nat liked her though, they were currently discussing the history of the venue, and apparently she'd been welcomed into the Tower girl's club.

Dinner was delicious and plentiful - half the time fancy tie things skimped on food. His filet was cooked perfectly. When the last course was gone, they started bringing out coffee and then it was time for toasts. Amanda's father stood up and gave a very teary one, then her sister popped up, with notes. She was funny and charismatic, as any good TV personality should be. Then Rogers took his turn. He was obviously nervous and had trouble getting through it. At the end, Barnes stood up and gave him a manly, back slamming hug. Even Nat was dabbing at the corners of her eyes.

Clint draped his arm over the back of Nat's chair, and she leaned against him. "When did our lives get so normal?" he asked.

"Ironically, when I helped our friend Steve dismantle the organization we'd previously devoted our lives to."

"SHIELD wasn't good for us. Any of us, I think."

"No. We're in a much better place now." The band started up and they watched Barnes and Amanda step out onto the dance floor. "Have you ever thought about getting married?" Nat asked.

He turned his head to look down at the top of hers. It was a casual question. It deserved a casual answer. "I would not want to be at the center of one of these shindigs, that's for sure."

"God, me neither. I think Amanda's going to spend three days hiding under a blanket on her couch after this." She paused. "There's a lot of ways to get married, though."

"I've heard some people do it while skydiving."

"Or underwater."

"Though, how would anyone even hear the vows?"

"I think they use white boards, which is a little weird." She shifted to look up at him. "There's also the court steps and a justice of the peace."

"That does lack a certain panache."

"What if we wore our Avenger outfits?"

He laughed. "That would probably make the news."

"They'd be disappointed it wasn't Stark."

"He seems to feel pretty strongly about not getting married."

"Yeah." She lifted a shoulder. "Pepper's fine with it. They have so much money and property and interest in the company that it would be a tax an paperwork nightmare. They have some iron clad contacts in place for the baby."

"Sounds like a lot of work. But then, I guess kids are." 

"Especially on your wardrobe, apparently." She leaned into him again, but fortunately all he smelled was her perfume and shampoo. "I get the appeal of marriage, though."

"Do you?" he asked, as neutrally as he could.

"Yeah. In the social contact sort of way, not the weird, right wing, sanctity of marriage way. It's a culmination of a relationship. A declaration of loyalty."

A curl had escaped her bun, and he wrapped it around his finger. "A lot of people find that very important."

"I don't know that I find anything important. Other than you and our friends. I've had nothing, so I know how to enjoy what I have. And it's not like I have a mental checklist of normal things i want to accomplish. But the idea doesn't frighten me or anything."

He wasn't entirely sure what to make of that. "I think that's probably normal." He kissed the top of her head. "You want to dance?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

He pulled her into his arms and out on the dance floor. "We probably have to stay the whole time since I'm in the wedding, don't we?"

"Everything mostly winds down after the cake," she offered, tucking herself into his arms as they swayed.

He pulled her a little closer. "I know how you enjoy a tuxedo."

She grinned, gaze sweeping up and down the length of him. "You wear it so well."

"I've been told getting peeled out of it is a perk of being a groomsman."

"I look forward to the task. And hey, our neighbors will be on their honeymoon. We can be as loud as we want."

"This dress is ruined anyway, right?"

Her laugh was throaty and stirred heat inside him. "It is."

He nuzzled her hair. "Good."

They danced on and off. Nat didn't convince him to tango, but did get a proper waltz out of him. The cake was cut and the bouquet tossed. Nat neatly dodged it, mostly to avoid teasing, he thought. It sailed right into Sharon Carter's hands, which caused Rogers to turn a hilarious shade of red. The skipped the garter tossing thing, something Clint made a mental note to thank Doc for later.

Nat wrapped her arms around him and tole a last bite of cake. "Home?" she murmured in his ear.

*

They were in the elevator going up to their apartment. Clint lounged against the wall opposite her, in his tux, tie undone and hanging around his neck. For a moment, time itself unwound. 

"You know, in a few months that will be ten years ago." Clearly, his mind went the same place. 

"We should do something to celebrate," she said. Ten years seemed like a hell of a mile stone for people who had lived the lives they had. "Take that vacation we keep talking about."

He grinned. "It's practically our anniversary." The doors opened on their floor, and he offered her his arm.

She slid her arm through his as they stepped into the hallway. "Anniversary. I like that."

It had been such a leap, going to his room that night. She wondered what would have happened if she hadn't. Would they have found their way to this anyway? Or had there been a window, before friendship got too entrenched, before the impulse passed, before attraction got well and truly buried. Would she have ever learned to love without him?

As they went through their door, he asked, "Are you okay?"

"Yes. I think so. Just. . . thinking about what ifs. Different paths it could have taken."

He shrugged out of his coat, and then his tuxedo jacket. "Feeling restless?"

Bracing a hand on the back of his recliner, she toed off her shoes. "No, I wouldn't want to be anywhere else." It had been true a long time, to her surprise. Had you asked her five years ago - even two years ago - if she'd be happy in one place, with no plan or urge to move on a moment's notice, she'd have thought you mad. "I suppose I’m feeling contemplative. Life is full of these fragile moments. Someone reaches out or smiles or turns left. And your whole life changes, takes a completely different path."

He came closer. "I had no idea deciding not to kill you would change my life. And later probably save it."

"Looking back, I can't believe I got the nerve to knock on your door that night in Monaco. I came so close to letting it lie."

"I'm very grateful you did." Clint reached behind her, his fingers trailing up along the line of her zipper. "I wanted you. I think anyone they'd partnered you with would have tried to get into your pants and some point. But then we actually did, and. . ." He sighed. "I knew that night. That is wasn't just sex. I just buried it as deep as I could."

She sighed softly, even at that simple touch. "It took me a long time to understand what I felt. That it wasn't what everyone felt for the people they slept with."

"No," he replied, bending to kiss her. "We have always been extraordinary."

Wrapping her arms around him, she tugged him closer, going up on her toes to press herself again him. "I love you," she murmured on his mouth.

"I love you," he replied. "Feel like a shower?"

"I would love a shower."

He pulled her in the direction of the bathroom, and while they walked she pulled off his tie and began popping out his shirt studs. They stopped long enough for her to put them and his cufflinks on the dresser. She took off her jewelry while they were there. He kicked off his shoes and shrugged out of the tuxedo shirt. They'd been hesitant and careful, that first night. Now they were efficient in their stripping, but they still watched each other.

She reached behind her for the zipper to her dress, the stopped. "Did you want to do something garment ruining to this?"

He grinned, and then he kissed her. In the middle of the kiss, she felt him grab two fistfuls of the neckline and pull, filling the air with the sound of ripping fabric. Her breath quickened at the act, skin feeling flushed and tight. She was never going to get tired of him, of this. No matter what happened, she was going to want him beside her.

His hands skimmed the shredded dress down her body and she stepped out of it, bracing on his shoulders. She drew him down for another hot kiss. Tonight she'd put on some of her fanciest lingerie, but he peeled it off without looking. When they had nothing on them and a pile of clothes at their feet, he lifted her enough to carry her into the bathroom without breaking the kiss. He stopped only to turn on the water in the big glass shower. They'd done a second upgrade after the tub install, to add an extravagant multi-jet shower like the one she'd had in her apartment in DC.

The water was the perfect temperature when he stepped underneath it, Nat still in his arms. She sighed at the feel of the hot spray on her back. His hair was wet and slick under her hands as she dug her fingers in. Finally breaking the kiss, she ran a trail down his jaw to nibble his ear.

His hands followed the path of the water down over her back, over her ass, just sliding over the slick skin. "I will never get tired of this," he murmured.

"Mmm, I was thinking the same." She licked a drop of water off his collarbone. "Though my thoughts were more sentimental and less X-rated."

He cupped her breasts his his hands, catching the water that dripped off the tips. "That, too."

"There's not ever going to be anyone else for me," she said softly. "Either of us, I suspect."

Clint pulled her body close to his, so they pressed together. "There's only you."

Maybe that was what she liked about marriage. The vows. People broke promises all the time. Nat was an expert at it. But she'd never lied to Clint, never broke a promise to him. She was fairly certain the same was true of him. She liked that, that bedrock that lay under everything else they were to each other. It was what let her love him, what let her fight with him. Because she knew underneath it they would never betray each other.

Did you need wedding vows for that? No, it was already there and had been a long time. But wedding vows were normal. And lately, she'd started to see the appeal of normal.

She wrapped a leg around his hips, so they could get closer still. When he cupped her ass with his hands she jumped a little and he pressed her into the steam fogged glass wall behind her. He buried his face in her neck, and repeated, "There's only you."

"Yes," she whispered, stroking his hair. "Only you."

He took a shuddery breath, and then pulled back, setting her down again on the shower floor. He kissed her, and then he turned her around, so she braced her hands on the shower wall. She flattened her palmsl and all but held her breath. He didn't make her wait long, framing her hips in his hands and shifting her so he could slid deep into her.

Nat let out a moan at the first thrust, then bowed her head, relaxing into his rhythm. She felt a shift in the water pattern and realized he'd pulled the hand-held shower head off the wall. A shudder passed through her because she knew what he'd do with it.

Sure enough, a moment later he brought it down in front of her and angled it so the hard, rhythmic spray hit her clit. She moaned again and bent her arms before they buckled, leaning on her forearms to support herself. His other hand cupped one breast, and he kissed the back of her neck. "That's it, honey."

She all but growled at him, thrusting back into his strokes. She could feel heat building inside her, slow but steady. The pounding of the water on her was incredible, but not quite enough. He rolled her nipple between his fingers and she moaned, clenching.

"Come for me," he said, half plea, half command.

He really did know what buttons to push. She shuddered at the words and leaned into the massager spray. With a little more time and some concentration, everything came together in a hot rush of pleasure that swamped her, leaving her shaking. She could feel him follow her while she was floating back down, and then he dropped the shower head so he could wrap both arms around her.

She close her eyes, breathing hard as they both recovered. She had to lock her knees, but managed to keep herself upright. When she was sure she wasn't going to fall she moved a hand off the wall to pat his hand. She felt as much as heard him sigh. "Sometimes telling you I love you doesn't seem like enough."

"You do a decent job of showing me," she offered.

"Do I?" he asked quietly.

"You do," she promised, reaching back to touch his face. "Loud enough for me to hear, anyway."

He pulled out of her, and turned her around so he could kiss her with a great deal of tenderness. "You want me to wash your hair?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

He smiled, and picked up the hand sprayer. She stood still while he washed and conditioned her hair. His hair took less care, but she did enjoy soaping up every inch of him and scrubbing his back till he groaned. Her fingers had gone a bit pruney by the time he turned the water off and they stepped out to wrap each other in fluffy towels. 

They dried off and got into bed. He pulled her close against his body. "It really doesn't scare you?" he asked finally.

She took a breath of his scent, tucking her head under his chin. "What?"

"You said getting married, conceptually, didn't scare you."

"Oh. No. It doesn't. I mean, I have learned that normal women have some sort of anxiety or cold feet as it's approaching. I don't know that I'd be different. But the idea of getting married and being married doesn't bother me. I like it."

He was quiet for another stretch. "Enough you'd consider doing it?"

Nat his a smile in his skin. "Yes."

His fingers touched the back of her neck. "Tasha."

"I am making you ask, Clint. Four words, you can do it."

"Look at me," he whispered.

Obediently, she leaned back so he could see her face. There were probably women in the world who would be upset at being proposed to while naked in bed. But really, where else would she rather be?

He sifted her hair through his fingers. "I never actually considered this on the table, you know."

"Getting married? Were you hoping to live in sin forever or are you still worried I'll freak out and leave one day?"

"I think to really 'live in sin' you probably have to believe in God."

She tilted her head thoughtfully. "I wonder if that makes the sex hotter."

"I don't think you'll leave," he said. "And I don't need paperwork or vows to believe that."

"If you don't need or want to get married then that's that. I'm just as happy as we are. But we kept an empty apartment for almost a year because neither of us had the balls to admit we didn't need it." She stroked his cheek. "I'm working on my communication skills."

He watched her for a long moment. "I don't need to. But I want to."

Nat grinned, feeling something unclench inside her. "Good. Me too."

He grinned widely, and pulled her close so he could kiss her. She sank her fingers into his still damp hair, kissing him back. "I love you," he murmured against her mouth. "Marry me."

Naked or not, hearing the words was as romantic as the story books said. "I will," she whispered, leaning back to look at him. She smiled widely. "Where should we go on our honeymoon?"

He lifted his head. "I've always wanted to go to Alaska."

Marriage was about compromise. "Can we take a cruise up?"

He seemed to consider that. "Or. . . we could go somewhere you'll wear a bikini."

"We have always talked about going back to Hawaii." She dangled it out like a prize. Bikini was way better than thick coat.

"Not Honolulu this time. Somewhere private."

That was a good point. She was kind of famous now. "Stark has a house. He'd let us borrow it for a week or two."

"That sounds perfect."

Nat shifted onto her back, stretching. "So, courthouse?"

He grinned at her. "Vegas."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be the epilogue.


	11. Epilogue

_Kauai, January, 2017_

Nat had, in fact, bought the littlest bikini in the world for their honeymoon. Clint was pretty sure there were beaches she'd get kicked off of for wearing it. Fortunately, Stark's "house" was practically a beachside resort in its own right, so they could have sprawled around in nothing, had they wanted to.

He thought about asking her to sunbathe topless, but felt something like sunburned nipples might diminish their enjoyment of their trip.

Stark had such a large hunk of land, on a less populated island, that it really did feel like they were alone at the end of the world. The place had a full staff, including a chef, and a person whose entire job seemed to be to bring them drinks and snacks while on the beach. There was even a helicopter at their disposal, for visiting other islands. They'd gone to Honolulu for dinner, to Maui to snorkel and scuba dive, and to the Big Island to see the volcano. He'd put the helo down in a place that was completely illegal to be, as close as he could get to the lava flow.

At the moment he was in a lounge chair outside their gigantic suite, watching her walk up from the beach where she'd been snorkeling on the reef. Her hair had grown a lot - he couldn't remember the last time she'd cut it - and lay plastered over her shoulders and down her back. When she saw him looking she added an extra sway to her hips climbing the stairs up to the deck. "Hello, husband."

"Hello, gorgeous," he replied. "I called for your drink when I saw you come out of the water."

She bent to kiss him, dripping water on his skin. "You're good to me."

He pulled her onto the chair and into his lap, tossing the book he was reading aside. "You're well worth it."

Leaning down, she rested her head on his shoulder. "Why thank you." The waiter, or whatever his title was, materialized and handed Nat her mai tai. She thanked him before he headed back into the house. "I have to admit, this is the life."

"How long do you think it would take Stark to evict us, if we just didn't leave?"

"Probably until he wanted to come stay here. Or until they need us to help save the world again."

He squeezed some of the water out of her hair. It made her look like a mermaid when she swam. "I suppose that's a worthy cause."

"I would think so." She was quiet a moment, sipping her drink. "You remember the last time we where here?" she said eventually. "I kept making up different personas for us. Joked I should write a book."

"I do remember that."

Another pause. Longer. "I've started writing it."

He was so surprised you could have knocked him over. "You're writing a book?"

"Yes." She sounded defensive and embarrassed at the same time. "It's probably terrible and who knows what will come of it. But. . . yes, i started writing it."

He hugged her a little tighter. "You are the best storyteller I know."

"Doesn't mean I can put it down on paper," she muttered, sounding grumpy. "I only have a few chapters, but if you wanted to see it I'd let you."

"I would love to."

"You have to be nice," she warned him. "Be honest, but in a nice way. Artists are temperamental, you know."

"I'm always nice. When am I not nice?"

She rested her chin on his shoulder. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

"No. I do not." He kissed her. "I would honestly love to read it. I'm not exactly a literary critic." And he found it immensely endearing how sensitive she seemed about this.

"All right." She resettled her head on his chest. "I will send you a copy."

"I lot of people would probably buy Black Widow's book."

"That's true, I can use my fame for my own purposes."

He fiddled with the string of her bikini top. "It would be good for one of us to have a gainful occupation for when we become too old and/or injured to keep being superheroes. Once your joints go. Or my eyes."

"That's actually a good point. Don't know if we should count on me supporting us in our dotage, though."

"You could earn a great living running confidence scams. Or maybe go into sales. For whatever difference there might actually be between the two."

She laughed at that. "What would I sell? Cars? Jewelry? Weapons?"

"Anything. You could literally sell ice to eskimos."

"Maybe we should just invest well and live off our savings." She tilted her head. "We should look into what the Stark retirement policy is."

"I also have some gold in a vault in Switzerland."

She leaned back to stare at him. "Man, get married and the secrets come out."

He shrugged. "I think half of it is legally yours now."

"I don't know if that counts ill gotten gains." She ran her fingers through his hair. "How did you get gold?"

"Moonlighting." He tugged on the string again, and the knot gave.

With a wiggle, she let the top slip off her arm. "And someone paid you in gold?"

He grinned widely. "I keep it there for emergencies. Do you really want to talk about this now?"

She blinked innocently. "Did you have something else in mind?"

"We _are_ on our honeymoon."

"Oh, that's true." She shifted so she was straddling his thighs and leaned in to kiss him. "You promise to tell me the gold story later?"

"I will. We have our entire lives."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to anyone disappointed in missing the wedding. You'll be able to see some of it in Steve and Sharon's story _Lifelong Love Letter_ , around chapter 18/19 (I'm still editing). I'll post of tumblr when those chapters go up.
> 
> Clint and Nat will return in _Heavy Boots of Lead_ our Age of Ultron adaption, beginning August 1st.


End file.
